
Glass "PQ JM1__ 
Book „f!5fe4 



PRESENTED BY" 



3*1 



THE 



RURAL PHILOSOPHER 



DIDACTIC POEM. 



(/T. Davison, "White-Friars j 



... 
THE 



RURAL PHILOSOPHER; 



FRENCH GEORGICS. 



DIDACTIC POEM. 



TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL OF THE 
/ 

ABBE' DELILLE ; 

ENTITLED 

V HOMME DES CHAMPS. 



BY JOHN.MAUNDE. 



LCNDON": * 
PRINTED FOR G, KEARSLEY, FLEET-STREET, 







c e • •* 

r * • 

c r « 

t « •• 



CCCCCC e _ « 






DEDICATION. 

TO 

Sir JAMES BLAND BURGESS, Bart. 

TO you, Sir, at once a warm patron of 
literature, a poet of eminence, and skilful agri- 
culturist, I have taken the liberty of dedicating 
the following pages. Should they find favour 
in the eye of the public, I shall in some mea- 
sure think myself justified for the freedom I 
have used; if otherwise, I shall not readily 
forgive myself for having prefixed the name 
of the Author of Richard the First to a pub- 
lication unworthy of his notice. 

I have the honour to be, 

your very devoted 

humble servant, 

THE TRANSLATOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



THE translation of Poetry from one lan- 
guage into another, at the best of times an ar- 
duous undertaking, has been here in some in- 
stances peculiarly such. Independently that 
didactic poems are of all others the dullest, 
and consequently requiring much labour to 
make them, in any degree, pleasing, the 
Translator has found in the original of the 
following work whole passages literally taken 
from some of the best of our British Poets ; 
as from Pope's Windsor Forest, Goldsmith's 
Deserted Village, Denham's Cooper's Hill, 
Thomson's Seasons, and Shenstone's School- 
mistress, in the first Canto ; and in the fourth 
again from Pope's Essays on Criticism. For 
these passages, therefore, the Translator must 
request the Critic's indulgence ; in all others 



Vlll ADVERTISEMENT. 

he by no means wishes to deprecate a candid 
and impartial examination ; but rather desires 
that, after this, his first attempt, he may have 
certain beacons held out to him by the hand 
of skill and experience, by which he may 
hereafter learn to direct his course, if again 
he should venture upon a similar voyage. 

It has been deemed adviseable not to give 
the translation the same title with the original : 
." The Man of the Fields"— L'Hom me des 
Champs, to an English reader, would, per- 
haps, appear stiff and quaint : the Rural Phi- 
losopher has been therefore substituted for it. 

It is not without fear and trembling that the 
Translator throws this work upon the public 
eye : he has only to plead, in extenuation of 
its faults, that it is his first undertaking. 



PREFACE OF THE AUTHOR. 



J\ gentleman, highly distinguished for his abilities., 
who has filled many important places with success, and 
written on several subjects in an elegant and interesting 
manner, has said, in his considerations on the State of 
France : " Mr. the Abbe Delille would have enjoyed the 
u highest reputation, if, instead of translating, he had 
" written from himself, and been employed upon more 
'* interesting subjects." 

It is proper to receive encomiums with modesty, and 
refuse unjust criticism with calmness. Perhaps my an- 
swer to M. de M. in exonerating myself from the re- 
proaches which he has laid upon me, may serve to esta- 
blish certain principles of taste, that are either too little 



PREFACE. 



remembered, or too little known, and destroy a prejudice 
which has been truly fatal to our literature. 

In the first place then, why does Rf. de M. look upon 
the art of embellishing landscapes as a subject of little 
interest ? It were well to go a little back, in order to 
teach the public, and perhaps M. de M. himself, the 
source of this error ) and this discussion may have its 
utility. 

It is but too true, that several privileged kinds of writ- 
ing, as tragedy, comedy, romances, and what is called 
fugitive poetry, have for a long time almost exclusively 
employed our poets : people of the world, on their side, 
have scarcely ever troubled themselves about any other 
sort. So that, while our neighbours prided themselves 
upon an infinity of poems, foreign to the theatres, and 
to light compositions, our indigence in this respect was 
extreme ; nor were some of Voltaire's epistles on moral 
subjects sufficient to free us from this reproach. 

This reflection, already so important in a literary point 
of view, is still more so with regaid to morals and po- 
litics : this prevailing taste for light and fugitive poetry 
serves but to nourish in a people already, too justly per- 
haps, accused of frivolity, that thoughtlessness of cha- 
racter which has been preserved in the midst of the most 



PREFACE. XI 



dreadful events. In this there has been no revolution. 
We have been seen to jest at crimes,, the atrocity of which 
should have made us shudder \ ridicule has been substi- 
tuted for courage ; and this people, so unfortunate and so 
obstinately gay, might have likewise said 

c< J'ai ri, me voila desarme !" 

Piron, Metromanie. 

With respect to romances and theatrical works, the ex- 
clusive love for this class of literature is, perhaps, still 
more dangerous. They accustom the mind to those 
violent sensations so opposite to that happy temper which 
is the result of soft and moderate sentiments ; whence 
too arise those peaceable emotions equally necessary to 
happiness and virtue : and if, in the midst of this habit 
and necessity, as it were, of these strong impressions 
and disordered movements, which theatrical representa- 
tions and romantic narrations endeavour to excite, some 
unexpected revolution should take place, all moderation 
would probably be banished from it. We should often 
see public assemblies degenerate into theatrical represen- 
tations^ discourse into declamation, and the galleries of 
the senate into boxes, where hisses or applause would be 
lavished with fury from the opposing parties ; the streets 
even would have their boards, their representations, and 
actors. The same desire of novelty would be shewn in 



XU PREFACE. 



this new kind of spectacle ; every day more violent scenes 
would succeed each other, and the excess of the evening 
would render the crimes of the morrow necessary : so 
true is it, that the mind, when accustomed to immoderate 
impressions, knows not where to stop, and has recourse to 
excesses only in order to escape ennui. 

It would then be useful to encourage other kinds Gf 
poetry, and not by unmerited contempt check the efforts 
of those authors who, in the midst of these impassioned 
movements, endeavour to embellish with the colours of 
poetry either the objects of nature, the process of the 
arts, the precepts of morality, or the delightful occupa- 
tions of a country life. Such are the Georgics of Virgil; 
such too, with the double inferiority of our language and 
the Author's talents, is the poem of The Gardens, and that 
of French Georgics. The person that I take the liberty 
of refuting, looks upon the subject of the first of these 
two works as deficient in interest. Does he mean to say 
that it cannot excite those violent shocks and profound 
impressions peculiar to other kinds of poetry ? In this we 
are agreed. But is there no other sort of interest to be 
produced from poetry ? What ! can that charming art, 
the most delightful, the most natural, and most virtuous 
of all, be destitute of interest 3 that art, which I have 
elsewhere called the luxury of agriculture, which the 
poets themselves have described as the primitive pleasure 



PREFACE. X1U 



of primitive man ; that soft though splendid method of 
employing the riches of nature, and the fertility of th 
earth, which gives a charm to virtuous retirement and 
amusement to old age, that presents the country and its 
sylvan beauties under the most brilliant colours and hap- 
piest combinations, and changes the scenes of wild and 
neglected nature into the most enchanting pictures ! 
Milton, Tasso, and Homer, were not of this opinion, 
when, in their immortal poems, they exhausted the trea- 
sures of their imagination on this subject. These works, 
as often as they are read, discover and awaken in our 
hearts the desire of simple and natural pleasures. Virgil, 
in his Georgics, has given a charming episode of an old 
man that cultivated a garden of the most humble di- 
mensions on the banks of the Galesus ; an episode that 
never fails to produce its effect on sound judgments, and 
upon those minds that are feelingly open to the real 
beauties of art and nature. 

Let us add, that in all poetical works there are two 
kinds of interest 3 the one arising from the subject, and 
the other from the composition. In poems of the same 
nature with that which I now present to the public, the 
interest arising from the composition ought to be found 
in the highest degree. There the reader finds neither 
action that may excite lively curiosity, or passions that 
may forcibly agitate his mind. This interest then must 



XIV PREFACE. 



find a substitute In the most accurate details, and the 
perfection of the most pure and brilliant style. There 
the justness of idea, the vivacity of colouring, the multi- 
tude of images, the charm of variety, the management of 
contrast, a delightful harmony, and well-sustained ele- 
gance, should continually keep the reader attached and 
awake. But this merit acquires the happiest organisation, 
the most exquisite taste, and the most persevering labour. 
For these reasons, master- pieces of this nature are rare. 
Europe may reckon two hundred good tragedies : the 
Georgics, and the poem of Lucretius, amongst the an- 
cients, are the only monuments of the second kind ; and, 
while the tragedies of Ennius, Pacuvius, and even the Me- 
dea of Ovid, have perished, antiquity has transmitted to us 
these two poems ; and it would seem that the Genius of 
Rome had been still watchful of her glory, in preserving 
these chef- cT centres . Amongst the moderns, we are scarcely 
acquainted with any poems, except the two Seasons, in 
English and in French, Boileau's Art of Poetry, and 
Pope's admirable Essay on Man, that have obtained and 
preserved a distinguished rank amongst poetical com- 
positions. 

A justly celebrated author, in an epistle which was 
printed some time after the public reading of many parts 
of this work, appeared desirous of depreciating this species 
of composition. He informs us ; that even the savage 



PREFACE. XV 

ran sing of his mistress, his mountains, lakes, and forests, 
his hunting or fishing parties. Good God ! what ana- 
logy can there be between the rude song of the savage, 
and the talent of a man who knows how to seize the 
beauties of Nature with the practised eye of observation, 
and display them with the brilliant colouring of imagi- 
nation 5 that sometimes paints them with the richest 
tints, and now with the finest shades ; who seizes that 
secret but eternal correspondence that exists between 
physical and moral nature, between the sensations of 
man and the works of God 5 that sometimes happily re- 
lieves his subject by episodes that rise to the interest of 
Tragedy, or the majesty of Epic ! This is the proper 
place to answer several criticisms that, to say no worse, 
are at least rigorous, which have been made on the poem 
of The Gardens. I may perhaps be allowed, after a 
silence of fifteen years, to make an attempt at destroy- 
ing the vexatious impression that these criticisms may 
have caused. 

The poem has been reproached by some as defective in 
plan. Every man of taste immediately feels how im- 
possible it was to present a plan, perfectly regular, in the 
investigation of gardens, which derive one of their prin- 
cipal beauties from picturesque irregularity and skilful 
disorder, When Rapin wrote a Latin poem upon regular 
gardens, it was easy to present in the four cantos, of 



^ 



XVI PREFACE. 



which it is composed, ist, Flowers; 2d, Orchards -, 3c?, 
Waters ; 4th, Forests : there is no merit in that, because 
there is no difficulty. But in picturesque and free gar- 
dens, where the objects are all mingled together ; where 
it has been necessary even to trace the philosophic causes 
of that pleasure which arises in us from a sight of Na- 
ture, embellished and not tormented by Art ; and where 
strait lines, symmetrical distributions, and mathematical 
beauties, must per force be excluded, another plan was 
necessary. The Author has, therefore, in the first Canto, 
shewn the art of borrowing from Nature, and of employ- 
ing with success the rich materials adapted for the pic- 
turesque formation of irregular gardens, and of changing 
landscapes into pictures 5 with what care the place and 
position should be chosen, how to profit by their advan- 
tages or correct their inconveniences 5 whatever there is 
in Nature that favours or resists imitation 3 in short, the 
distinction of the different kinds of gardens and land- 
scapes, of freehand regular gardens. After these general 
rules, the different parts proper for the picturesque for- 
mation of gardens are shewn : thus, the second Canto 
treats solely of plantations, which are the most important 
part of landscape : the third contains objects with which 
none could have filled a canto without falling into barren- 
ness and monotony j such are lawns, flowers, rocks, and 
waters. 



PREFACE. XVII 



The fourth Canto treats of the distribution of different 
scenes, majestic or touching, voluptuous or severe, me- 
lancholy or gay ; of the artificial manner in which the 
paths that lead to them ought to be traced; of every 
thing, in short, that other arts, and particularly architec- 
ture and sculpture, can lend to the art of gardening. 
What is remarkable, without any previous design of the 
Author, this plan, that has been blamed for its want of 
order, happens to be the same with that of the Art of 
Poetry, so vaunted for its regularity. Boileau, in fact, 
in his first Ganto treats of the Poet's talents and the ge- 
neral rules of poetry ; in the second and third, of the 
different kinds of poetry, of the idyl, the ode, of tragedy, 
epic, &c. bestowing upon every object, as I have taken 
care to do, an extent proportioned to its importance; 
finally, the fourth Canto has for its subject the conduct 
and morals of the poet, and the moral end of poetry. 

Other critics, still more severe, have blamed this poem 
as deficient in sensibility. I shall observe, in the first 
place, that many poets have been cited for their sensibility, 
only for having imitated different passages of it. Some 
persons, however., more indulgent, have discovered a de- 
gree of sensibility in the Poet's regret of the destruction 
of the ancient park at Versailles, to which he joined the 
remembrance of whatever appeared most striking or ma- 
jestic in an age that will be ever remembered; again, in 

b 



XV111 PREFACE. 



the descriptions of those impressions which the prospect 
of ruins makes upon us, a passage which hitherto was to- 
tally new in French poetry, though it has since been fre- 
quently imitated in prose and verse. They discovered a de- 
gree of sensibility too in the description of the melancholy 
which is naturally brought upon us from the sad falling 
off of nature towards the close of autumn, as well as in 
that sentimental manner of planting which has formed 
of trees hitherto void of life, and, if we may use the 
expression, void of memory, monuments of love, friend- 
ship, of the return of some friend, or the birth of a son - 7 
an idea uniformly new at the period when the poem of 
The Gardens was first written, and as uniformly imitated 
by several subsequent writers. 

They allowed it likewise in the homage which the 
Author paid to the memory of the celebrated and unfor- 
tunate Captain Cook 5 and. in the affecting episode of the 
Young Indian, who, in the midst of the splendor of Paris, 
regretting the simple beauty of his native place, sprung 
forward at the unexpected sight of a banana-tree in the 
Jar din des Plant es, embraced it while his eyes were bathed 
in tears, and, by a delightful illusion of sensibility, ima- 
gined himself for a moment transported into his own 
country. 

There are besides two species of sensibility. The one 



PREFACE. XIX 



makes us feci for the sorrow of our equals, and derives its 
source from the ties of blood, friendship, or love, and de- 
scribes the pleasure or pain of those great passions that 
constitute the happiness or misery of mankind. This is 
the only species of sensibility that some writers will ac- 
knowledge. There is, however, another, far more scarce 
and not less to be valued. It is that kind of sensibility 
which, like life, expands itself over every part of a work ; 
that gives an interest to objects that are the most foreign 
to man -, that makes him participate in the destiny, hap- 
piness, and death of an animal, or even of a plant 5 that 
gives an interest to places that he had inhabited, or where 
he had been educated, and that have been witnesses of our 
pains or pleasures; and to the melancholy aspect of ruins. 
Such was the sensibility that inspired Virgil, when, in de- 
scribing a pestilence that was sweeping away the different 
animals, he affects us almost equally for the steer that 
mourns the death of his brother and companion in labour, 
as for the hind who leaves with a sigh his work uncom- 
pleted : such again is the sensibility that inspires him when 
on the subject of a growing shrub, whose foliage is pre- 
maturely luxuriant, he deprecates the pruning-knife in 
consideration of its weak and delicate infancy. This 
species of sensibility is rare, as not only appertaining to 
the tenderness of social affections, but to a superabundance 
of sentiment that expands itself over all, animates all, and 
interests itself for all ; and many a poet that has been 



XX PREFACE. 



sufficiently successful in tragedy, would not be able to 
write six lines together of this nature. 

In short, twenty editions of this poem, translations of 
it into German, Polish, Italian, and two poetical ones 
into English, are perhaps a sufficient answer to the 
severest criticisms. The author does not pretend to con- 
ceal the deficiency of some of its transitions, that are 
either cold or redundant : he has corrected these faults in 
an edition now ready to appear, and enriched with addi- 
tional passages, and several interesting episodes, that will 
give a new value to the work. It is more especially to 
announce this edition with advantage, that he has en- 
deavoured to confute the too rigorous criticisms that have 
been made on this poem. Many persons have affected to 
place it far beneath the translation of the Georgics -, that 
is natural enough -, the first was of his own invention, 
and they would rather yield him the honour of the trans* 
lation. 

This species of composition, as it requires authors of 
the first ability, so likewise does it require readers of ex- 
quisite taste. The spectators of Rome might weep at the 
representation t)f Orestes and Pylades -, but Horace, Tucca, 
Pollio, and Varus, only knew how to appreciate the 
Georgics of Virgil. They alone, and others like them, 
could seize the numberless beauties of description that in- 



PREFACE. XXI 



cessantly succeed each other ; that continued elegance and 
harmony 5 those difficulties happily surmounted ; those ex- 
pressions full of force,, boldness, and grace 5 that art of 
painting by sounds ; in short, that inimitable secret of 
style, that has learnt to interest us in the formation of a 
furrow, or the construction of a plough. For these reasons, 
I have perhaps additional right to complain of the esti- 
mable person of whom I before spoke, for his observation, 
that I had employed myself too much in translation, with- 
out noticing at the same time the species of translation. 
It is strange that M. de M. should not deign to distin- 
guish a translation in verse from one in prose 5 there is 
no man of letters who, as far as concerns the difficultv 
to be surmounted, does not feel the extreme difference. 
With a little more attention M. de M, would have recol- 
lected, that at the moment when this translation appear- 
ed, no translation in verse from any of the ancient 
poets existed in our language, and that, in this respect, 
our literature experienced a void totally unknown to 
foreign, and particularly to English literature : he would 
have remembered, that of all Pope's works his translation 
of Homer contributed the most to his reputation and 
fortune. He could not otherwise be ignorant that, inde- 
pendently of the difficulties which a poetical translation 
presents, that of the Georgics had others peculiar to it- 
self, that suffer no man of taste to confound it with any 



XXU PREFACE. 



other. The epoch when the author began his trans- 
lation augmented the difficulty. At that time, none but 
professional agriculturists were employed on agriculture ; 
no society, no academy had been consecrated to the theory 
of this important art j no book, or very few at least, had 
treated on the subject; the words of rake, harrow, manure, 
&c. seemed excluded from the higher style of poetry ; in 
short, agriculture was totally plebeian. For this reason, 
any author that at present might undertake a new trans- 
lation of the Georgics, finding the road already beaten, 
the prejudice weakened, the forms of this kind of compo- 
sition multiplied, and the art of agriculture ennobled, 
would, in succeeding better, have less merit, because he 
would have fewer difficulties to surmount, nor be com- 
pelled to labour with that hesitation which renders the 
style cold, and the powers of poetry feeble. 

Add to this, that in our versification there are infinitely 
more difficulties to overcome than in all the languages of 
the world 5 and that it was by no means easy to wear with 
pleasure or grace these multiplied shackles. Those, 
therefore, who have endeavoured to conquer these ob- 
stacles, may, I think, be permitted to avail themselves of 
those illustrious testimonies that can recompense them for 
the efforts they have made, or console them for the cri- 
ticisms they have endured. Let me then be allowed to 



PREFACE. XXlll 

cite an anecdote,, which will; perhaps, evince the idea 
that men of the most distinguished talents had formed 
of a translation of the Georgics. 

When almost a boy, I had translated some books of 
this poem j I waited on the son of the great Racine. His 
work upon religion, the poetry of which is always ele- 
gant and natural, and sometimes sublime, had given me 
the highest idea of his taste, as well as his talents. I 
waited upon him, therefore, and requested permission to 
consult him upon a poetical translation of the Georgics. 
" The Georgics!" said he with a severe tone ; " it is an 
* c undertaking extremely rash! My friend Le Franc, whose 
(< talents I honour, attempted it, and I foretold that he 
w would fail !" The son of the great Racine, nevertheless, 
had the goodness to give me a rendezvous at a small ha- 
bitation, where he retired twice every week, in order to 
offer to God those tears he was shedding for the death of 
an only son, a young man of the highest promise, and 
one of the unfortunate victims of the earthquake at 
Lisbon. I found him in a cabinet at the bottom of his 
garden, in company with his dog only, of which he seem- 
ed extremely fond. He several times told me how bold 
my undertaking appeared to him. With great fearful - 
ness I read thirty lines. He stopt me, and said, iC Not 
" only I do not discourage you from your project, but 
(i exhort you to pursue it," Never did I in my life feel so 



XXIV PREFACE. 



y a pleasure. This interview, this modest retreat, 
and this cabinet, where my youthful imagination seemed 
to see assembled, tender piety, chaste and religious poetry, 
philosophy without affectation, paternal feeling, unhappy 
though resigned, and, in short, the venerable relic of an 
illustrious family upon the eve of being extinct for want 
of heirs, but whose name will never die, left upon my 
mind a strong and lasting impression. Full of ardour and 
joy, and imagining that I had not only heard the voice of 
the advocate of religion, but even some accents of the 
author of Athalie, I left him, and pursued my painful 
undertaking, which eventually procured me many eulo- 
giums, with which I am flattered, and criticisms, by 
which I have been benefited. 

To Racine's opinion I may join that of Voltaire, and 
Frederick the Great. Inferior reputations, when attack- 
ed, have an undisputed right to shelter themselves under 
those renowned names that may be kind enough to protect 
them. Frederick, who had too much taste not to per- 
ceive, that in our language no model of this species of 
composition had existed, after reading the above-men- 
tioned translation, made use of this charming expres- 
sion : " This translation is the most original work that 
4< has appeared in France for this long time." 

As to Voltaire,, every body has read, in his discourse 



PREFACE, XXV 



upon being admitted into the French Academy, these re- 
markable words : i( AYho, amongst us, would dare to un- 
* ( dertake a translation of Virgil's Georgics ?" I shall not 
mention those passages in his letters, where the enco- 
miums upon this translation, so often repeated., appear 
even to myself above the merit of the work, and that 
have, besides, no immediate connection with the diffi- 
culty of translating into verse a poem, so foreign to our 
language as the Georgics. It will be seen how much he 
was impressed with this difficulty in the following phrases: 
" I look upon the translation of the Georgics, by the 
'• Abbe Delille, as one of the works that do most honour 
" to the French language : and I do not know whether 
u Boileau himself would have dared to translate them." 
(Letter to Chabanon.) " Filled with the lecture of the 
<( Abbe Delille's Georgics, I feel all the merit of a dif- 
" ficulty so successfully surmounted, and I think it im- 
w possible to do more honour to Virgil, or the nation," 
(Letter to the Academy.) It is evident how far that 
great man was from confounding this translation with 
that of a novel, history, or indeed of any other poern, 
whatever it might be : the reason is, that he, better than 
all others, felt the poverty of our language in this species 
of writing, a language, of which he so wittily observed* 
u It is a proud beggar that we must bestow alms upon* 
"in spite of itself." 



XXVI PREFACE, 



What will still farther help to prove the difficulty of 
"this translation is, that M. de Pompignan, according to 
the prediction of Racine's illustrious son, completely 
failed in it. The version which he published was printed 
many years ago, and its existence is scarcely known. 
This poet, however, by no means deserves the contempt 
that Voltaire has so lavishly treated him with ; and his 
tragedy of Dido, and several of his sacred odes, are 
amongst the fairest of our literary monuments : but 
the same person that so happily pourtrayed the passion of 
Dido, failed in the description of a plough. 

Now, let me be allowed to thank M. de M. for the flat- 
tering encomiums he has bestowed upon me, and the rigo- 
rous observations he has made, since they have given me 
an occasion to honour myself with so many illustrious 
suffrages : this I should never have done, had he not de- 
preciated the species of occupation that I followed, which 
has a near connection with the work that I now publish, 
and of which it is time to develope the plan and inten- 
tion. 

These new Georgics have nothing in common with 
those that have heretofore appeared 5 and the term of 
Georgics has been here, as well as in many other French 
poems, particularly in the Seasons of the Cardinal de Ber 



PREFACE. XXV11 



nis, employed in a wider sense than its common accep- 
tation. This poem is divided into four Cantos, which , 
though all relative to rural enjoyments, have, nevertheless, 
each its particular object. 

In the first it is the sage, who, with more refined sense, 
more practised eye than the vulgar, surveys in their count- 
less changes the rich decorations of country scenery, and 
multiplies his enjoyments in multiplying his sensations 5 
who, knowing the means of rendering himself happy 
in his country habitation, endeavours to extend his own 
happiness around him, so much the sweeter in ^r^por^ 
tion as it is participated. The example of beneficence is 
given by nature itself, which in his eyes is but an eternal 
succession of succour and benefits. He associates himself 
to this sublime concert, and calls to the assistance of his 
beneficent views the authorities of the hamlet he inhabits ; 
and, by this concourse of benevolence and care, assures 
the happiness and virtue of age and infancy. This part 
of the poem was read several times at the French Aca- 
demy, and particularly at the reception of the unfor- 
tunate M. de Malesherbes. I am bound to say, that all 
the maxims of beneficence and love for the people were 
there warmly applauded by the most considerable persons 
in the nation. I have retrenched nothing of the recom- 
mendation I then made of poverty to riches, and weak* 



XXV111 PREFACE. 



ness to power ; in spite of the excess into which the peo- 
ple has given, I should have been condemned even by its 
victims. 

There are likewise in this Canto about sixty couplets 
borrowed from different English poets ; but, in imitating 
these passages, I have endeavoured to appropriate them 
to myself, by the images or expression. They have besides 
an object totally different in this poem. In the descrip- 
tion of the stag hunt, I have more particularly fallen into 
an imitation of St. Lambert. 

The second Canto describes the beneficial pleasures of 
the cultivator. But it is not here the common species of 
agriculture, that sows or reaps the produce of Nature in 
the proper season, that is subservient to her ancient laws, 
and follows her ancient customs ; it is a miraculous agri- 
culture, that is not contented to avail itself of the benefits 
of nature, but that triumphs over obstacles, that brings to 
perfection our native productions and race of animals, 
and naturalizes foreign productions and races ; that forces 
the rock to afford room to the vine, the torrent to divide 
the silk, or subdue metals 3 that creates or corrects the 
soil, digs canals for agriculture and commerce, that fer- 
tilizes by the distribution of water the most arid grounds, 
that represses or benefits by the ravages and usurpation of 



PREFACE- XXIX 



rivers j that, in one word, makes its tour over the country, 
sometimes like a Goddess that lavishes blessings, some- 
times like a Fairy that scatters enchantments. 

The third Canto is- consecrated to the natural philo- 
sopher, who, surrounded by the works and wonders of na- 
ture, applies himself to obtain a due knowledge of them, 
and, by these means, gives an additional interest to his 
walks, and additional charms to his dwelling and his 
hours of leisure ; that, next, arranges a cabinet of na- 
tural history, adorned, not with foreign curiosities, but 
with those that surround him, and that, born in his na- 
tive soil, become consequently more interesting. The 
subject of this Canto is the most fertile of all, and never 
was a more extended or newer career opened to the genius 
of poetry. 

Finally, the fourth Canto teaches the sylvan poet how 
to celebrate in verses, worthy of Nature, her phenomena 
and her riches." The Author, in displaying the art of 
painting the beauties of the country, has himself en* 
deavoured to seize the most majestic and interesting^ 
features. 

The Translator of Virgil's Gecrgics, in composing his 
own, has often been aiiiicted with the mournful restm- 



XXX PREFACE. 



blance that he bears to his model. Like Virgil, he has 
written upon the pleasures and labours of the country at a 
time, when the plains were devastated by foreign and 
civil war : like him, too, he turned away his eyes from 
heaps of ruins and dead bodies, in order to repose them 
on the charming images resulting from the first art of 
man, and on the innocent delights of the fields. Au- 
gustus, having at length peaceable possession of Rome, 
though still reeking with blood, laboured to revive agri- 
culture and the good morals that walk in its train 5 he 
engaged Virgil to publish his Georgics : they made their 
appearance with peace, and augmented its charms. This 
is a happy augury for his imitator : May this poem restore 
softer sentiments and virtuous feelings to those minds- 
that continual fears have exasperated, or that long suffer- 
ings have ulcerated ! The indulgence of the reader will 
judge less rigourously of a work composed at such an un- 
fortunate period : it would have been more correct and 
less imperfect had he written it with a mind unembar- 
rassed, or a quieter heart ; and if, in this dreadful revolu- 
tion, he had lost no more than his fortune ! 

I conclude this preface, in disavowing several pieces of 
my imprinted works that are found scattered in journals 
or extracts, in which pieces I have been sorry to find 
passages inserted by strange hands 5 such particularly -is 



PREFACE. XXXI 



a translation of one of Pope's satires,, given when I was 
almost a boy, and a letter written from Constantinople 
on the ruins of Greece : it is just that I should not be bur- 
t honed with more than my own faults, 



BOOKS just published by G. KEARSLEY, Fleet-street. 



CLARA, A Romance. 

In Two Volumes 12 mo. price 8s, in boards. 

Dr. SHAW's HISTORY OF QUADRUPEDS, Complete. Ele- 
gantly printed on very fine Paper, in medium octavo, and from their 
size and great number of plates, divided into Four Vols, price 3I. 12s. 
in boards, Vol. I. and II. of GENERAL ZOOLOGY, or Syste- 
matic Natural History, 

By GEORGE SHAW, M D. F.R.S. &c. &c. 

With between two and three hundred Plates, from the first autho- 
rities, or the most select Specimens in the British, Leverian, and 
other Museums, principally engraved by Mr. Heath. 

In the course of this work will be comprised the whole of what is 
termed Zoology, or the History of the Animal World. It commenced 
with Quadrupeds, which dre now complete, and will proceed, in sys- 
tematic order, through all the remaining branches. 

It is scarcely necessary to observe, that in this publication parti- 
cular attention has been paid to the lately discovered animals from 
New Holland, which, from their highly singular conformation, form 
50 interesting a part of Natural History. 

The Linnasan arrangement, with some occasional variations, will in 
general be pursued, as on the whole most eligible. 

%* A few copies are taken off on Whatman" 's super-royal paper, and 
hot-pressed, price six guineas in boards. 

The Purchasers of the First Volume may receive the Second sepa- 
rate, price il. 1 6s. or on large paper, 3I. 3s. in boards. 

ADVICE to the OFFICERS of the BRITISH ARMY, with the 
Audition of some Hints to the Drummer and Private Soldier. 

Ridiculum acri 
Fortius et melius plerumque secat res. 

Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, 
Yet touch'd and mov'd by ridicule alone. 

To which is now added, some Advice to the Officers of the Ord- 
nance, and the Secretary at War. The tenth edition, with very ma- 
ferial Additions and Improvements, price 4$. in boards. 



I 

THE 



RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



CANTO I. 



X* RO M Boileau s Muse, of bold and haughty tone, 
The rigid laws of polish 1 d verse are known; 
The Mantuan bard has bid the docile field 
With readier zeal its tardy produce yield, 
Fain would my numbers teach the human heart 
That pure enjoyment which our fields impart : 
How vain the wish ! so shall the Sylvan Muse 
Each pedant rule, each harsher note refuse; 
Shew Nature's form in smiling beauty drest, 
And call mankind to view her and be blest ! 

Come then, ye blissful scenes, ye soft retreats, 
Where life flows pure., the heart more calmly beats; 



2 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Beauties of Kature. 

Where harmless pleasure lulls the tranquil mind, 
Nor leaves the sting of dire reproach behind ! 
Inspire my pen ! that, drawn in Nature's cause, 
With genuine pleasure mingles Virtue's laws. 

What though our meads with purest bliss are fraught, 
Few mortals know to feel it as they ought. 
For not alone to sensual powers confln'd, 
It asks the guiltless taste and spotless mind. 
Here let me not, with declamation vain 
And counsel sad, afflict the wretched train, 
That, in the lap of early lux'ry bred, 
With wandering step its prostrate ruins tread. 
Too much, alas ! must bleeding France lament 
The ravage dire that wild Reform has sent ! 
Yet not to France alone my Muse shall sing: 
For ev'ry clime she prunes her daring wing. 

Would st thou, sequester' d 'midst thy rustic bowers. 
In calm contentment pass the tranquil hours, 
The sylvan gods, that guard the sacred round, 
With incenfe pure must s?e their altars crown'd : 
Not like yon heir corrupt, of simple sire, 
Who, ere enjoyment comes, has lost desire ; 
Whose veering wishes, ever on the range, 
Shift, like his current coin, in endless change. 



CANTO I. 



Folly of many Desires. 



See him in town [i] : scarce does the morning rise, 
The town fatigues,, and to the fields he Hies ; 
There scarce arriv'd before his mansion -gate, 
Disgust and vapour' d Spleen his coming wait : 
Scarce has his eye the gay parterre survey'd, 
The Chinese temple and the greenhouse shade 5 
Tir'd of the scene, by new-born wishes drawn, 
He hastes to Paris, at the play to yawn. 
Thus pall'd with pleasures, ever seeking new, 
He blames the town, reviles the country too : 
The fault is his alone [2] : the ceaseless strife 
Of meeting wishes sours the stream of life. 

Amidst thy fields, whence simplest pleasures flow, 
Search not the labour'd pomp of empty show; 
Else wilt thou find, a prey to useless pride, 
Thy mind depress'd, thy heart dissatisfied. 
Too oft does Man, with Nature still at war, 
In proud conceit, her fairest projects mar : 
Let him, where cities rear their tow'ring head, 
Transplant the leafy grove, and fiow'ry mead : 
I blame him not ; but see, with proud delight, 
Triumphant Nature vindicate her right, 
Aided by Art, her native power resume, 
Live 'midst the great, and in the palace bloom, 



4 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Meanness and Disappointment, 

With pitying eye, I mark the wealthy clown, 
That to the country brings the city down, 
With splendid pomp adorns his house and board. 
And at the village acts the sumptuous lord. 
With added grief each upstart heir I view, 
Who rashly bids his fathers house adieu, 
Courts the gay world, and, in the public eye, 
Squanders the rent his rich domains supply ; 
With mean attendance guards the great mans gate, 
With eager look his passing glance to wait ; 
Pleas' d if some placeman beckon him aside, 
And fan with nattering hopes his empty pride. 

How soon, alas ! by sad experience brought, 
Arrives disgust : disgust how dearly bought ! 
Till, humbler grown, he seeks his fields again, 
Attends his vintage, or collects his grain : 
Convinc'd at length, from state-intrigues aloof, 
That Peace resides beneath the cottage-roof. 

Ye that in courts 'midst storms and tumult live, 
Hope not the pleasures which the fields can give ! 
For you, alas ! the dwelling of a day, 
To restlefs Care they lend a moment's stay ! 
Soon shall your heart, by dreadful anguish rent, 
The fatal error of your choice lament ! 



CAXTO I. 



Resulting from Tcnvn-Life. 



Look at your trees : no flattery they bestow, 
No worldly scorn nor arts ungrateful know j 
And when they promise, in their friendly shade, 
A refuge sure, they keep the promise made. 

Try then to leave the city's peopled waste, 
And form, by soft degrees, a rural taste : 
Let town-bred projects to the country yield j 
Adorn your garden \ cultivate your field : 
And though, while rustic toils your mind employ, 
You miss, perhaps, the sage's purer joy, 
Self-love will soon the vacant place supply, 
And view its offspring with a parent's eye, 

Ev'n in the fairest scenes, fome pleasures still 
The rural hour at intervals must till : 
Choose them with cautious care ; nor, madly vain, 
Beneath thy roof receive the Thespian train : 
Let the proud lord the gaudy throng admit, 
Whofe marble dome such pompous shows befit ; 
But in the cottage- walls, theatric noise 
L T surps the peaceful scene of p astral joys. 
While mirth escapes before the splendid view > 
How shall ourselves escape contagion too ? 
Slow o'er the breast the soft infection creeps, 
Till in our bed ; perhaps, the actress sleeps. 






O THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Country Amusements, Choice of. 

Add, that the jealous clash of rival hate, 

The spiteful whisper, and the warm debate, 

Who Princess, Lover, King, or Clown, shall be, 

Form, 'midst the troop itself, a comedy. 

Oft too, the mind, in empty pastime lost, 

Neglects those duties which concern it most 5 

See Mondor, Merope, with skilful art, 

Of lire or mother top the mimic part, 

Think'st thou at home their infants know their care } 

Vainly, alas ! you seek the parent there. 

Thus then, arriv'd at Folly's highest noon, 

Does man turn mimic, and the sage buffoon ' 7 

Thus Nero liv'd, amidst his motley court, 

His people's terror and his people's sport. 

Let Mole, Sainval, crown'd with just renown, 

With graceful skill enchant the listening town. 

In fcenes sublime, distinguish'd wouldst thou shine* 

Tread Nature's stage, and that distinction's thine. 

What soften'd charms her various scenes supply 

To those of finer taste, and practis'd eye ! 

The vulgar soul to no emotion yields : 

Though Spring or Summer deck the smiling fields, 

Senseless it sees the changing hours advance, 

Owns no distinction, and is pleas'd by chance. 

Not so the Sage : to varying Nature true, 

To-day some new-born object strikes his view $ 



t 



CANTO I. 



The Sage's Enjoyment in the Country. 



To-morrow comes 5 its short-liv'd beauty flies, 
And gives a fresh sensation as it dies. 
Thus will the soul to present pleasure spring, 
And grieve for that which struggles on the wing ; 
In all is pleas'd ; or when the freshen d morn 
Gives life to flowers that hasten to be born ; 
Or should the sun,, now verging to the main. 
Some languid traces of his fire retain. 
So Homer leaves the dreadful shock of arms, 
And loves to paint Aurora's rosy charms : 
So Lorrain's magic touch, as daylight dies, 
With yellow lustre gilds his evening skies. 

Through all its change the rolling year pursue, 
That, like the day, can boast its morning too ! 
Yon infect light, now first from darkness freed, 
That flies exulting o'er the blcssom'd mead, 
Expands his wings, and on each opening flower, 
Young, gay, and brilliant, tastes the vernal shower, 
Not more enjoys his entrance into day 
Than does the Sage, when Spring resumes its fway. 
Farewel the gloomy screen's seclusive fold ! 
Farewel to dusty books, and lecture cold ! 
Nature's rich volume, to the mind display 'd, 
Invites the Muse — and be her call obey'd ! 



8 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Spring and Autumn, their different Scenes. 

Sweet though the beauties of the new-born Spring, 
The later seasons other pleasures bring : 
Th' autumnal sun, that paler tints surround, 
The dying foliage, and the woods embrown' d, 
Though bodings sad afflict the sorrowing sense, 
A mellow' d softness to the soul dispense. 
Spring lights up rapture in the gladd'ning eye, 1 
While Autumn bids us breathe the pensive sigh. 
The sunny day, that through the winter slept, 
Like some lov'd friend, whose death we vainly wept, 
With unexpected presence cheers the sight, 
And, e'en in quitting, calls us to delight : 
Then 'tis a parting friend, that, ere he goes, 
Each ling' ring moment on his -friend bestows : 
The moment given with ardour we retain, 
While fond regret augments the pleasing pain. 

Majestic Summer! pardon that my lays 
Till now forbore to celebrate thy praise. 
The fervid splendour of thy mid-day sun 
With wonder strikes me, though its fire I shun. 
I love thee most, whene'er thy potent rage 
Or Autumn's breath or vernal gales assuage. 
Though Nature pant beneath thy noontide power, 
How sweet the freshness of thy evening hour ! 



CANTO I. 



Summer.... Winter, its Pleasures. 

What time the Night, throughout the gelid air, 
Veil with her sable wings the solar glare ; 
Then loves the eye, that shrunk before the day, 
To drink refreshment from the moon's pale ray 3 
When modest Cynthia, clad in silver light, 
Expands her beauty on the brow of Night, 
Sheds her soft beams upon the mountain-side, 
Peeps through the wood, and quivers on the tide* 

'Midst Winter's storm, the town I most approve) 
E'en there, though absent from the scenes I love, 
Thanks to the Poet and the Painter's skill ! 
In Fancy's eye, I can enjoy them still. 
But if compeil'd to pass amidst the fields 
The winter drear — e'en winter pleasure yields : 
The dazzling snow, the hoary frost of morn, 
And icy lustres that the rock adorn. 
Wandering through air, if chance one solar beam, 
Herald of Spring, athwart the scene should gleam, 
That, like a graceful smile 'midst Sorrow's tears, 
With transient light the mourning desert cheers, 
More than the brightest glow of summer-skies 
Reviving Nature shall the stranger prize. 
If, o'er the barren waste, the searching eye 
One spot of verdure haply shall descry, 



10 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Back 



srammon. 



How shall the heart the pleasing object greet, 

That brings with sweet remembrance hopes as sweet $ 

And thus enjoy, amidst the rigid frost, 

The promis'd spring, the autumn that it lost ! 

But should the tempest lour 5 in yonder room, 
Where sparkling faggots chase the dreary gloom, 
With flambeaux lighted, and adorn'd with taste, 
I'll sit secure, and mock the northern blast ; 
"While various pastimes happily deceive 
The lingering moments of the stormy eve. 
Here, with the dice-box trembling in his hands, 
The practis'd gamester, calculating, stands ; 
Or, o'er the gammon fix'd, with studious face 
Marks every chance, the full and vacant space. 
From side to side the shifting counter goes, 
One pile decreasing as the other grows. 
As fears or hope the panting bosom try, 
Through varied fortune runs the harass'd die : 
Now from its prison thrown, with furious bound 
It leaps along the board, that echoes round, 
Still rolling on 5 till one decisive stroke 
Pronounce the contest and the party broke. 
Yon serious pair, immers'd in thought profound, 
Their peaceful squadrons range on chequer'd ground : 



CANTO I. 11 



Chess.. ..Lecture. 



Madly enamour'd of the mimic war, 
With warmth they combat, though from peril far : 
Through skilful rounds and intricate defiles 
They lead their ivory troops or ebon files : 
With equal force engage the rival bands, 
And conquest long in doubtful balance stands : 
One fatal check assures the victor's claim, 
Who loudly tells his adversary's shame : 
He o'er the chess-men bent, with sadden'd view, 
With pain believes that what he sees is true. 
Lotto, piquet, or whist's more solemn game,, 
Amuse the hoary sire and dowery'd dame. 
On yonder side, a young and giddy train 
Chase the white balls along the verdant plain. 
But now the table, scene of social charms, 
Commands each player to lay aside his arms : 
Scarce from the teeming flask the nectar's pour'd^ 
Ere sparkling wit allumes the festive board. 
The supper done, to Lecture we repair, 
Peruse Racine, or dip into Voltaire : 
Or else, alas ! some witling of the place 
Draws from his pocket, with important face, 
A treacherous scroll, which, as its author reads^ 
Fatigue and vapour round the circle spreads % 
One with a yawn the killing work admits > 
Another fairly sleeps and snores by fits, 



V 

h 



12 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Spring, its Amusements. 



Till, rous'd from slumber by th' applauding crowd, 
Sudden he starts, and claps his hands aloud. 
Thus does a laugh the tedious Lecturer balk, 
And to a tale or sonnet shifts the talk. 
To-morrow comes, and, to th' appointment true, 
Laughter and sport the self-same scenes renew. 
Winter, no more the god of stern command, 
Bids blithfome Pleasure on his brow expand > 
A laughing sire, that, 'neath the load of years, 
Loves to be pleas'd, and charms in hoary hairs. 

The rising beauties of the vernal sky 
More lively scenes, more active joys supply : 
Who then can bear, in sedentary place, 
The different colours of the cards to trace ? 
Man sighs for pleasure, and in health it lies; 
That would he have, 'tis found in exercise. 
Let winter only, or the city, know 
Thofe gloomy sports from indolence that flow, 
Where, pleas'd with torment, and amus'd by vice, 
That Care may sleep, man wakens Avarice. 
Gives not the peopled flood, the sylvan fight, 
More harmless pleasure, more sincere delight ? 
Come then, thou Muse, to whose domain belong 
The wand'ring Dryads, and the rustic throng, 



CAXTO I. 13 



Conduct my footsteps to their green retreat, 
Where primal man first caught poetic heat. 

Beneath [3] yon willows pale, whose foliage dank 
Gives added freshness to the river's bank,, 
The fisher stands, and marks upon the tide 
The trembling line along the current glide 5 
With mute attention, and with secret joy, 
He views the bending rod, and sinking buoy. 
Which wat'ry guest has brav'd the sudden fate, 
Fix'd to the barb that lurks beneath the bait ? 
The springing trout, or carp bedeck'd with gold, 
Or does the perch his purpled tins unfold ? 
The silver'd eel, that winds through many a maze, 
Or pike voracious on his kind that preys ? 

The sportsman now T the sylvan wa prepares, 
And takes the deathful tube, that lightning bears ; 
Clanc d from the level of his guiding eye, 
Eed comes the flash, and thunder follows nigh. 
Who first is doom'd to feel the leaden death ? 
The wheeling plover, plaintive o'er the heath. 
Or the sweet lark, that, soaring to the skies, 
Pierc'd 'midst his amorous warble, drops and dies ? 



14 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Stag-hunting. 

Thou, Muse, that oft, with Pity s sottest song, 
Hast sued for mercy to the feather'd throng, 
Forbear t' ennoble, in thy tuneful lay, 
Th* unmanly contest, and th' inglorious fray ! 
Why call not vengeance on the guilty head 
Of yon grim wolf, the country's scourge and dread ? 
So shall his death a nobler meed bestow, 
And flocks and fields shall bless the grateful blow. 

Hark to the horn ! at whose enliv'ning sound 
Th' aspiring courser paws the trembling ground, 
With neck impatient draws the tightened rein, 
Champs on the bit, and pants through every vein. 
Scar'd by the martial noise, that echoes far, 
The timid stas; foresees the driving war. 
Long time by vain irresolution press'd, 
What anxious doubts invade his lab'rinof breast ! 
Whether to trust at once to rapid flight, 
Or wait with hardy front the coming fight ? 
But fear at length prevails ; on wings of wind 
He leaves the forest and the hunt behind 5 
While now, with rein relax'd, the fiery steed 
Springs sudden forth, and gives himself to speed : 
The ardent sportsman, bending o'er his mane, 
Drives like a tempest o'er the beaten plain, 



CANTO I. 15 



Stasr-huiitin^. 



Breaks through the coppice, skims the furrow'd ground, 
While clouds of dust arise, and blacken round. 

Still flies the stag, and still the greedy pack 
Adhere, sagacious, to the steaming track : 
Where'er his footsteps mark the sandy ground, 
There clings the nostril of th' inftinstive hound. 
How does he rue the treachery of his feet, 
That guide the savage to his dark retreat ! 
' Beset, abandon'd, and with death behind, 
At length he calls his kindred herd to mind, 
'Mongst whom, of old, in fortune's happier day, 
The fubject- forest own'd his lordly sway. 
There if perchance, as wand' ring o'er the grass, 
The well-known troop should near their leader pass,, 
Full in the midst he goes, with humbler face., 
To shield his life, or hide his sad disgrace. 
Deluding thought ! th' intrusive guest they hate^, 
And shun the contact of his alter d fate. 
Like some fall'n prince, by summer-flattery left, 
He roams in exile, e'en of hope bereft ! 
While fond remembrance brings upon his view 
Those woods, where once the mingled charms he knew 
Of love and glory ; when the rocks around 
Responsive rung with war or pleasure's sound $ 



16 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Stag-hunting. 

When, like some Eastern lord, the female race 
Alternate wanton'd in his proud embrace. 
All, all is fled ! empire, and love, and fame, 
Leave him a naked prey to death and shame. 
What though some youthful stag, of dauntless face, 
Spring to his aid and take his dangerous place, 
The veteran dogs detect the useless snare, 
And all the thunder of the chace is near. 
Again he flies 5 and with experienc'd wile, 
And sudden bound, he breaks the track awhile 3 
Then, far sequester'd from the beaten way, 
On every side his fearful glances stray ; 
Backward he moves, and, as the trace is cross'd, 
He vainly hopes the steaming vapour lost, 
Till, as he liffening flops, the opening throat 
Of hounds and huntsmen swells the deathful note, 
Aghafl he looks, each wily art is tried, 
While fears unusual o'er his senses glide ; 
Each noise affrights, upon the breeze's breath $ 
Each tree becomes a foe — each foe is death ! 
Fatigu'd he quits the land -, and, from the steepy side, 
Plunges for refuge in the river's tide : 
But fate awaits him there : the shrill-mouth'd pack. 
With glowing eyes, are ardent at his back ; 
Panting with fuiy, and with thirst enflam'd, 
With deaf ning cries the dire repast is claim'd I 



CANTO 1. 17 



Death of the Stag. 



Not e'en the river can their thirst assuage, 

For blood, and blood alone, impels their rage ! 

Exhausted now, no friendly shelter near, 

His weakness turns to fury and despair. 

Too late, alas ! his slacken'd nerves lament 

In useless wiles their hardy vigour spent. 

Why did he not attend to Valour's call, 

And by his deeds give honour to his fall ? 

At bay he stands : impell'd by gen'rous fire, 

The valiant only feel his quicken'd ire ) 

Fierce 'gainst the host he springs, whose dreadful cries, 

Mingled with pain, in wild confusion rise. 

What now avails his chest of ample show, 

Or stately honours that adorn his brow j 

His taper legs, with matchless speed endow'd, 

Beneath whose tread the herbage scarcely bow'd ? 

Tott'ring he falls 5 and, while his eye-balls reel, 

Big drops distil [4] that e'en his murd'rers feel ! 

With moderate heat pursue the sylvan game> 
Unlike the fool, that, ev'ry- where the same, 
Talks of his dogs, his horses, and the chace, 
And deems his mansion stain'd with dire disgrace, 
Unless of fifty stags the branching horn 
In state triumphant the proud gates adorn; 
c 



IS THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Arts, Pleasures of. 

Who tedious tells th' exploits of many a day, 
And. like the stag, his audience keeps at bay ! 
Wouldst thou return beneath thy peaceful dome ? 
More silent joys should decorate thy home. 
Join to the beauties of the varied field 
Thofe softer charms the Arts alone can yield. 
Hail ! sister Arts., that every circle grace ! 
What pleasure 's pure where you have not a place ? 
To you the Sage's sweetest hours are due, 
With you his eyelids close, and wake for you : 
Oft too, when all beside is veil'd in night, 
The lamp's inspiring rays his vigils light. 
His boast and honour, [5] more than treasure dear, 
Good fortune ye adorn , and adverse cheer - 7 
His youth's delight, hope of his latter day, 
His country-guests, and friends upon the way : 
With you e*en Exile's self a refuge grows, 
Crown'd with mild study, virtue, and repose. 
Thus Tully once, when to the country driven, 
Forgot the wounds ungrateful Home had given !" 
Thus, emulating him, Aguesseau woo'd 
In Fresne's green bow'rs the peace of solitude 1 
Woe to th' unfeeling souls, and flinty hearts, 
]n fortune's sun-shine that neglect the Arts ! 
They, in their turn, when dire misfortunes press, 
Leave them, without resource; to vile distress. 



CANTO I. 19 



Friendship, necessary. 



But with their friends one common cause they make, 
Their rustic joys or prison's gloom partake 5 
Grateful with them in tedious exile roam, 
Confole their pains, or welcome them to home. 

Nor summer day, nor books, nor verdant bower. 
Suffice me now to fill the vacant hour. 
Unless fome friend my solitude should join, 
Give me his pleasures, and partake of mine, 
Days of my youth ! when with a poet's fire 
I lov'd the Country in her worst attire, 
In some lone desert sought a resting-place, 
And for my friends, the woods and feather d race I 
Enthusiast still ! my soul rejoic'd to hear 
Full in the forest blow the tempest drear, 
Or 'midst the whirlwind mark the sturdy oak 
Bend to the blast, or rising from the stroke. 
E'en when the hills their wint'ry horrors wore, 
I climb'd the steep, to list' the torrents roar !..,. 
'Tis past : now flows my blood with laggard pace, 
And sensual pleasures to the soul give place. 
The sweetest spot that fond retirement knows, 
If left to me alone, a desert grows. 
Whatever joys the sylvan scenes prepare, 
Some friend be near that may that pleasure share* 



£0 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Hospitality to the Living. 

Shut then the door upon the city guest, 

That, with thy game, destroys thy time and restj 

But for thy friend,, in long affection try'd, 

Adorn the room with hospitable pride, 

Whether some neighbour, kinsman., or his son, 

B.eview those scenes where first their life begun. 

Perhaps some sire, in life's declining year, 

Those woods revisits^ to his memory dear, 

In infant days that planted by his hand 

Now wave aloft and decorate the land. 

For him the groves a smiling aspect wear, 

And fields and flowers his transport seem to share ! 

Or now arrives your childhood's earliest friend, 

Pleas'd 'midst your harmless scenes his soul t' unbend, 

"Where each discovers, as around he looks, 

His [6] usual furniture, and fav'rite books. 

Some painter next is there, whose magic touch 

Each landscape doubles that you prize so much, 

Or else delights with skilful hand to trace 

The well-known features of some much-lov'd face. 

While dearest objects thus your dwelling fill, 

Your friends, though absent, give enjoyment still. 

Nor to the living be the spot confin'd, 
But let the dead with thee a refuge find. 



CANTO I. £1 



Hospitality to the Dead. 



Near yonder stream, where bending willows wave, 
Of some lost friend prepare the peaceful grave. 
There shall his dust more tranquil slumbers know, 
Than 'midst the marbles monumental show. 
Take thou the good Helvetian for thy guide, 
That near some grove, or plaintive riv'let's side, 
His friend inters, and o'er the sacred ground 
Bids arbours rise, and flowers blossom round. 
The cherish'd spot he tends with fondest toil, 
And with its culture soothes his grief awhile, 
In fancy breathing, from the fragrant rose, 
The soul of him o'er whom the flow' ret blows [7 J. 

Why shouldst thou not a safe asylum yield 
To those whose song has fertiliz'd the field ? 
A peaceful refuge shall not Berghem gain ? 
A bust the Mantuan or Sicilian swain ? 
For me, alas ! unworthy yet to claim 
A place near Berghem or near Virgil's name, 
If chance some gen'rous friend should deign to pay 
A modest homage to my sylvan lay, 
Let not the poet of the fields be found 
Amidst the court or city's busy round* 
Ye vales and uplands, cherish'd by my song, 
Grant that to you the monument belong ! 



22 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Honours paid to Authors. 

While o'er its head the branching poplars wave, 
A murmuring streamlet should its basis lave. 
My vows are heard ; on ancient Vistla's side, 
Where roam'd the Sarmat once, in savage pride. 
Of royal stem, a fair and warlike race, 
That in retirement give the country grace, 
Amidst their bowers have taught my Muse to hope 
A tribute with Saint Lambert, Thomfon, Pope, 
How shall I dare the proud distinction boast ? 
'Midst names so glorious will not mine be lost ? 
Is there, perchance, some unfrequented spot, 
Some distant nook, unnotic'd or forgot, 
Far, far from Gesner, or the Mantuan bard ? 
Hosts of the scene, for me th' afylum guard. 
Glad shall I see you, 'midst the laughing vales, 
Thofe lessons practise which my Muse details, 
And, while dire party's troubled waves ye break, 
Enrich the hamlet, and the desert deck, 
Happy, should Echo from her green retreat 
My name, [8] my homage, and my lays, repeat. 

In town or country one great truth be known : 
That pleasure 's best, which is not all our own. 
Wretched or happy, man from man receives, 
And lives by halves if for himself he lives. 



CANTO I. 23 



Incitements to Generosity. 



Ye that in verdant fields no pleasure view, 
Learn to do good, and pleasure will ensue. 
Amidst the city, and its thronging host, 
Riches and poverty alike are lost ; 
But where industrious Want and slothful Pride, 
The castle and the cot, are side by side, 
A contrast fad they to the mind present, 
And 'gainst the wealthy rouse the indigent, 
Then should thy bounty cover envy's spite, 
Give life its balance, and misfortune right ; 
Correct the seasons, and allow the poor 
That field to glean his hands have furrow'd o'er \ 
Fill by its gifts the long, though useful, space, 
That into different ranks divides our race. 

Where canst thou else more strong example find, 
Than in the fields, to rouse the gen'rous mind ? 
There, all around by mutual kindness live ; 
The beasts, that graze the field, its fatness give, 
Yon tree, that moisture from the soil receives, 
Gives to the mother earth its dying leaves ; 
The mountains pour the torrent o'er the lands, 
That cools the air j the air in dew expands. 
All gives and takes, all serves, and all enjoys ! 
Man's heart alone the harmony destroys ! 



24 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Rural Industry. 

Observe yon heir, that rues the treach'rous die. 
Run o'er his forests with exacting eye ; 
Without a tear his rich domains betray, 
And, like a burthen, cast his gold away. 
Thy gold a burthen ? — Impudence of wealth ! 
Why then does Famine sap yon infant's health ? 
Why then yon widow'd dame, with pittance scant ? 
Yon dow'rless maid, or sire that dies for want ? 

Oh ! had it pleas'd the will of bounteous Heaven 
To me some subject-hamlet to have given, 
Full happy then, and worthy to be so, 
Around my dome should plants and flow' rets grow ^ 
The richest fruits should deck the teeming soil, 
But most should human faces round me smile. 
Never mould Famine's pale and haggard mien 
Send dismal gloom athwart the happy scene. 
But man should toil : the plough-share and the spade, 
And all the implements of rustic trade, 
With sure reward, should wait th' industrious hand, 
And labour banish mis'ry from the land. 

Nor that suffice: let fickness, age, and pain, 
With thee a sure and ready succour gain : 
Select the smallest of thy chambers vast, 
Adorn d with order neat and decent taste $ 



CAXTO I. 25 

Rustic Poverty relieved. 

Let it, with various med'cines amply stor'd, 
To want diseas'd a constant aid afford. 
Sloth, that from town-fatigue his visit pays, 
Your carpet, mirrors, and saloon, may praise \ 
But this retreat, to goodness set apart, 
Is sacred only to the feeling heart. 

Oft with thy bounties, too, thy presence sho\v> 
And thus enhance the blessings you bestow j 
And let thy children there, with timid air, 
To timid want the secret offering bear : 
But most thy daughter, wearing on her face 
The first of beauties, Virtue's modest grace, 
Should to the wretched like an angel shine, 
And pay her first- fruit vows at Bounty's shrine. 
Thy offspring thus, with whom thy features grow* 
Thy mind, and manners, shall in image show: 
Their richest portion your example gives ) 
And, rear'd by you, their infant virtue lives. 
Ye worldly men, disgust that dearly buy, 
These pleasures contemplate with jealous eye. 

The lowliest clown, beneath the cottage straw* 
By Fancy's aid^ to town and state gives law* 
Fed by no error, or illusive pride, 
I ne'er aspire for nations to decide ; 



£6 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

The Village Pastor. 

Content with happiness in humbler state, 
Let me the peaceful village regulate ; 
And, while I feel the fancied empire mine, 
Not to myself alone the task confine : 
But ev'ry pow'r that forms the scant domain 
With equal efforts mall my sway maintain. 
Ye, for whose help I write the village-law, 
Instead of rules a portrait let me draw. 

See'st thou yon pars'nage-house, of modest site? 
There lives the man of God : in holy rite 
He bids the village -prayers to heaven arise, 
And opens all the treasure of the skies , 
He comforts want, hallows the marriage-bed, 
And over fruits and flowers his blessings spread \ 
He teaches good, receives man from the womb, 
Guides him through life, and follows to the tomb* 
Forbear to choose, for this sublimer post, 
The man in vile intrigue and av'rice lost, 
Who, elsewhere stern, indulgent to himself, 
Deserts a humble cure for abject pelf 5 
Whose manners base Religion's chair defile. 
Who to the day adapts his courtly style. 
The faithful pastor, to his parifh dear, 
Is like yon elm, that many a rolling year, 



CANTO I. 27 



The Village Pastor. 



Beneath its shade's hereditary reign, 
Has heard the gambols of the rustic train 5 
Whose branches green, that over Time prevail, 
Have seen the children rise, the father fail : 
If counsel sage or bounty he dispense, 
He 's to his flock another Providence. 
What secret want escapes his searching aid ? 
God only knows the happy he has made. 
In those retreats where want, disease and pain, 
Dismay and death, their dreadful sway maintain, 
Does he appear ? lo ! Terror takes his flight, 
And Death and Horror lose the power to fright, 
Esteem'd by wealth, and by the wretched blest, 
He hinders guilt by aiding the distrest 3 
And rivals oft, with fiercest hate that burn, 
Meet at his table, and in peace return. 

Respect his toils ; and let your gen'rous care 
His modest house, devoid of pomp, prepare : 
Within by virtue's richest treasure graced 5 
Without, adorn'd with neat and simplest taste. 
Partake with him the produce of thy ground 5 
And be his altar with your offerings crown'd. 
In holy league for mutual good combin'd, 
With his instructions be thy actions join' di 



28 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER* 

Village Schoolmaster* 

Not Rome, triumphant o'er the world that rose, 
A nobler scene could to the sight disclose, 
Than does the village, by its rev'rend guide 
And virtuous sage reliev'd and edified ! 
The sage's bounty and the pastor's pray'r 
Drive from the cottage mis'ry and despair. 

Resides there not a second power here, 
Whose looks the rustic long has learn 'd to fear ? 
Descend, my Muse, nor yet debase thy strain. 
And paint the pedant of the village train. 
Nor that suffice, but let thy prudent lay 
Attach due honour to his useful sway. 
He comes at length in consequential state, 
And self-importance marks his solemn gait. 
Read, write, and count, 'tis certain he can do $ 
Instruct at school, and sing at chapel too j 
Foresee the changing moon and tempest dread, 
And e'en in Latin once some progress made : 
In learn'd disputes still firm and valiant found, 
Though vanquish'd, still he scorns to quit the ground j 
Whilst, wisely us'd to gather time and strength, 
His crabbed words prolong their laggard length. 
The rustics gaze around, and scarce suppose 
That one poor brain could carry all he knows* 



CANTO I. 29 



\ illage Schoolmaster. 



But in his school, to each neglect severe, 
So much to him is learning's progress dear, 
Gomes he ? upon his smooth or ruffled brow 
His infant tribe their destiny may know. 
He nods, [9] they part 5 again, and they assemble ; 
Smile, if he laughs ; and if he frowns, they tremble, 
He soothes or menaces, as best befits, 
And now chastises, or he now acquits. 
E'en when away, his wary subjects fear, 
Lest th' unseen bird should whisper in his ear 
Who laughs or talks, or slumbers o'er his book, 
Or from what hand the ball his visage struck. 

Nor distant far the birch is seen to rise — 
The birch, that heeds not their imploring cries, 
If chance the breeze its boughs should lightly shake, 
With pale affright the puny urchins quake. 
Thus, gentle Chanonat, beside thy bed, 
I've touch'd that tree, my childhood's friend and dread 3- 
That willow-tree, whose tributary spray 
Arm'd my Hern pedant with his sceptred sway. 

Such is the master of the village-school [10]; 
Be it thy care to dignify his rule. 
The wise man learns each rank t* appreciate ; 
But fools alone despise the humbler state. 



30 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER* 



Infant Dispositions. 



In spite of pride, in office, great or low, 
Be modest one, and one importance know. 
Be by himself his post an honour deem'd : 
He must esteem himself to be esteem'd. 
What pleasing sights does yonder groupe create ! 
Their infant sports, their eonteft, and debate. 
Man loves to see, as ripen'd wisdom grows, 
Its fruits enrich the soil from whence it rose. 
But who can view, nor secret pleasure know, 
Life yet in bud, and manhood on the blow ? 
'Tis then that man's himself: no artful guise 
Spreads o'er his young desire its treach'rous dyes* 
One, smarting still from chastisement severe, 
Docile and mild, forgets the shcrt-liv'd tear ; 
Stung by th' affront, a smile his anger charms^ 
And to returning love his bosom warms. 
A second, firm alike in hate or love, 
No prayers appease, and no caresses move: 
Silent he stands, with stern and downcast eyes, 
And ev'ry proffer'd gift with scorn denies. 
E'en so [1 1] in Cato's infant years we find 
The haughty firmness of his manly mind. 

Amidst their pastimes, let thine eye explore 
The sports where instinct first begins to soar j 



CANTO I. 



Infant Abilities. 



Where, various talents in assemblage found, 

One turns th' historian of the country round. 

A second Euclid, on the dusty soil, 

Draws squares and circles, which the winds despoil, 

With charcoal pencil here a Rubens stands ; 

Or infant Chevert ranks his warrior bands : 

On yonder side, with meditating ai^ 

A rival Boileau, Pascal, or Moliere. 

He now content through wheeling rounds to urge 

The spinning box, that groans beneath the scourge., 

In future day, perhaps, with critic zeal, 

Shall bid our erring bards his lashes feel ! 

Another too, with Mole, PreviHe's skill, 

Of fop or clown the mimic part may fill, 

A Pope or Locke, but wait the fost'ring hand 

Of some kind friend, their genius to expand : —• 

Like yonder flow'r expecting, to be born, 

The solar ray, cr dewy tear of morn. 

He now delights, nor thinks of future fame,, 

To see the pebble, which his fingers aim* 

Skim on the wave, by turns descend and rise j 

Or mark his kite, that flutters near the skies, 

The germ of genius let your care pursue* 
Should some good chance present it to your view, 



32 THE RUpAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Superstition, Advice against. 

Rear'd and protected by your kindly aid, 
The rustic plant shall spread its rising shade 5 
On you at length its choicest fruits bestow : 
•Sweeter to him, that made the sapling grow, 

Nor prejudice, nor superstitious dread, 
Amongst the children of thy care should spread. 
Not distant far the time, when all around 
With midnight sprites each village did abound : 
Each castle near its ghost or goblin knew, 
And ev'ry hamlet had its sorc'rer too 5 
When babbling age, with long and dreary tale., 
Broke the soft quiet of her nursling pale : 
But most, when near the nightly taper's gloom 
The hour of evening bade the village come, 
Some story sad, of midnight ghosts that spoke, 
Still close and closer drew the frighten'd folk. 
Let none these fictions to thy charge rehearse, 
Offspring of Prejudice, and Error's nurse : 
But rather tell them how the reaper's care 
Leaves for the gleaner's want the scatter' d ear ; 
Of pious duties, and the secret hand 
That feeds the orphan, blasts the murd'rous band. 

While thus thy bounty bids the village livc> 
Doctrine to youth, to age assistance give $ 



CAXTO I. 33 



Rustic Amusements. 



Nor that be all ; but let some harmless joy 

The vacant hour on festivals employ. 

Scarce can the Muse believe, that barbarous pride 

Would have these comforts to the poor denied ; 

These days, say they, with barren leisure join'd, 

By useless pleasure are from toil purloin'd. 

Thus would their kindness to the poor dispense 

Excess of labour for their recompense ! 

Why shouldst thou grieve that the laborious hind 

On solemn days some relaxation find ? 

Why damp his music or the rustic lay, 

Or grudge the village- maid her neat array ? 

Let them at least, in recompense for pain, 

Some share of life, and happiness obtain. 

Their simple mirth, encouraged still by thee, 
Even now in Fancy's perspective I see. 
Grant me, some power, a share of Teniers' skill, 
"To paint the pleasures which the circle fill ! 

Two vet'rans here relate with proud delight 
Their past amours, or actions in the fight 5 
One tells his rank, or in what bloody fray 
Himself and Saxe alone had gain'd the day ! 
Whilst Egle near, suspended in the air, 
Looks from the swinging cord with dizzy fear ; 

D 



34 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Bowls.... Archer}'. 

The frolic Zephyr through her garment blows, 

That modest shame is anxious to compose. 

On yonder circle green, the reeling bowl 

Pursues its rival to the distant goal j 

The skilful umpire, kneeling o'er the place, 

Measures the distance, and decides the space. 

There, too, th' elastic racquet's aid denied, 

The bandied ball is tost from side to side. 

Two active rivals here contend for fame -, 

They start ; a shout proclaims the victor's name, 

On yonder side, launch'd on with sudden force, 

The rolling ball attacks in rapid course 

The wooden cones, arrangd along the plain, 

That falling oft as often rise again. 

Sometimes, with eye that marks each interval, 

The wary player meditates their fall : 

Long time he threatens ere the ball is thrown > 

At length determines, and the nine are down. 

Here skilful archers draw the bending yew, 

And, for their mark, the trembling pigeon view. 

The first but glances on the flutt'ring wing ; 

A second takes his aim, and cuts the string 3 

But vain the pigeon's flight ; with rapid eye 

A third o'ertakes him soaring to the sky : 

Wheeling through air, his blood-stain'd pinions beat. 

And bring the arrow to the victor's feet* 



CANTO t. 36 



Dancing. 



Near yonder church, beneath the elm-tree's shade, 

The village-youth their meeting-place have made : 

The fiddle sounds 5 the rustic train advance 

Through all the measures of the mazy dance, 

Whilst many a heart betrays the furtive heave, 

And frolic Love preludes to Hymen grave 5 

Each tries to show his vigour or his grace> 

And sparkling pleasure lights up ev'ry face. 

Their sports are harmless, and their joys they pay, 

Since e'en repose drives idleness away* 

Ye, by whose gift these short enjoyments live, 

Ye taste the rapture that your bounties give : 

Blest, ye unite upon the happy spot 

The rich and poor, the castle and the cot $ 

New pleasures ye create, and comfort pain 5 

Of social life ye nearer draw the chain 5 

And pleas'd with all, of no regret afraid. 

With God pronounce, That 's good which I have msde^ * 



END OF CANTO I, 



CANTO II. 



1 H RICE blest the man, from public storms aloof, 
That loves the shelter of his cottage- roof j 
In sweet retirement shuns the general view, 
Improves his garden, arts, and virtue too. 
Thus, when the stern Triumvir's blood-stain d hand 
Spread dreadful ruin o'er the Roman land, 
The Mantuan bard, while party-billows roll'd, 
His sylvan loves to ravish'd Echo told. 
"Who then had dar'd with war's tumultuous sound 
The peaceful dwelling of his muse surround ? 
When Rome, at length respiring from her toils, 
Beneath a milder reign forgot her broils, 
The world's great master saw him, at his feet, 
His field paternal from his gift entreat; 
Soon, soon again, from courtly scenes remov'd, 
By Pan and every rural god belov'd, 



38 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Virgil.. ..The Author. 

Near the bright lake, with silver swans o'erspread, 

He trod [i] the verdure of the Mantuan mead. 

Here 'midst the peaceful groves and wand'ring herd* 

Soft o er the reed his tuneful voice was heardj 

While with the music of his dulcet song 

To rural bliss he drew the mind along* 

Like him, alas ! of birthright land bereav'd, 

I leave to God the little I receiv'd -, 

Like him, to groves from civil discord flown, 

I shun the tumult of the frantic town, 

Pleas'd if my Muse, that loves the sylvan strain, 

Instruct the labour of th' industrious swain. 

Ye then, who fain, profaning his retreat, 

Would change the poet to the man of state, 

Forbear the progress of your ill-tim'd views, 

Nor break the leisure of my tranquil Muse. 

Rather, like Caesar to the Mantuan bard, 

With due respect his follower reward. 

Poor and unknown, in freedom let me dream, 

Lull'd by the sounding lyre or bubbling stream. 

No more my Muse, confinM to Virgil's trace. 
Gives Roman lessons to the Gallic race, 
But, boldly daring in herself confide, 
Her footstep ventures on a way untried> 



CANTO II. 39 



Culture, Wonders of. 



In native strains her much-lov'd art to fing, 

And deck the ploughshare with the flow'rs of spring. 

No more in hackney'd numbers shall be found 

The vulgar methods to enrich the ground ; 

No more I tell, beneath what prosp'rous sign 

To plant the sapling, or to wed the vine; 

Where olives thrive, or in what happy soil 

Ceres may flourish, or Pomona smile. 

Since countless wonders Culture now displays, 

I leave her labours, and those wonders praise \ 

Her efforts vast, the bounty of her hand, 

Her potent causes, and effects as grand : 

No more the fimple power our fathers knew 

She deigns each ancient maxim to pursue 5 

Like some enchantress, with her magic wand, 

In treasures new she decks the smiling land ; 

Subdues the rock, and clothes the mountain's face, 

Fattens the soil, and gives its offspring grace ; 

Frees from their chain the long-imprison'd tides, 

And streams astonish'd to each other guides : 

Her magic power, triumphant over times, 

Together blends or seasons, worlds, or climes. 

When primal man first till'd the fruitless soil, 

No plans were known to fertilize his toil : 

Without distinction, or on mount or plain, 

His careless hand dispers'd the useful grain : 



40 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Manners, various. 

Till taught at length, by Time's instructing aid, 
Each tree its country knew 5 each soil its seed. 
Ga farther, thou, and dare, with bolder view 
The ground correcting, Nature's self subdue. 
Du Hamel's rival, to thyself assure 
The fruitful virtues of the rich manure. 
A speedy nurture, do thy fields demand ? 
The lime and marl are ready to thy hand : 
Or ashes now,, or what thy dove-house yields, 
Let cautious Prudence strew along thy fields ; 
The fertile litter of thy cattle's range 
From ordure vile to richest juice shall change. 
Here wouldft thou feed the hunger of thy land, 
Blend the fat clay amidst the cutting sand ; 
Or, that the plough the stubborn loom may bend, 
The sand alternate should its succour lend. 
Ye fools, that brooding o'er a fancied prize, 
Expect from chymic toil that gold will rise, 
Drive such chimeras from your empty mind : 
In culture's furrow, ye must treasure find. 
The earth thy crucible, Sol's potent heat 
Shall warm thy furnace and thy toils complete : 
Within the bosom of the teeming ground 
The real gold of Alchymy is found. 



CANTO II. 41 



Anecdote. 



A toilsome swain, that taught the fatten'd field 
With grateful kindness double crops to yield, 
Skill'd in the fruitful art of Albion's ifle, 
Fallowed, concocted, and compos' d the soil : 
New [2] meadows rose beneath his careful hand,, 
And richest sainfoin blossonYd o'er his land 5 
His new-born flow' rets bloom'd with double crown, 
And Autumn's season blush'd with fruits unknown. 
No rest he knew, till by his labour tir'd, 
Th' exhausted soil some interval requir d. 
An envious neighbour mark'd his rising store, 
Charg'd him with witchcraft, and to judgment bore } 
He there displays, instead of spells or charms, 
His rakes, his harrow, and laborious arms : 
<( Behold (cries he) the only arts I use!" 
He spoke, and well-deserv'd applause ensues, 
His potent skill, that late the earth subdued, 
Alike [3] triumphant over envy stood. 

Follow his secret : let thy skilful hand. 
Correcting Nature, change th' improving land. 
That rural wealth with added store may shine, 
To ancient use thy own instructions join 3 
Nor lur'd by novelty or servile mode, 
On useless essays be thy time bestowed, 



42 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Modish Culture, ridiculous. 

Let the proud upstart rail with idle breath 
Against the rules our forefathers bequeath; 
To him the system leave, by [4] Rozier plann'd, 
Fertile on paper, in the closet grand : 
To modifh swains their new-found arts allow, 
Their neat utensils, and their tasty plough, 
Their farm in miniature, and secrets vain 
The Mercury * loves, and Ceres must disdain 5 
Leaving to them their self-created rules, 
Respect the practice of our ancient schools. 

Yet shun extremes, not let thy servile care 
Too close a copy of our fathers bear 3 
Give new resources to the rustic art, 
Try other schemes, and other views impart. 
Who knows what meed thy labour may await, 
What fruits unknown thy conquests may create ! 
Of old, the rose on lowly bramble sprung, 
While high in air the ruddy apple hung ! 
Now, strange reverse ! the rose-tree climbs the skies, 
While scarce from earth our apple-trees arise ! 
What various flowers, in richest colours gay, 
With double crown their proud festoons display ! 
More wouldst thou do ? Sent from their distant place, 
Give foreign consorts to thy native race : 
* A Newspaper so called. 



CANTO II. 



Imitation of Foreign Manners, servile. 

But shun the man,, whose proud disgust and scorn 
Detest those treasures which at home are born ; 
Who feels no joy, though spreading to the air 
His pompous trees their verdant branches rear, 
Unless from Afric's soil their rise they boast, 
From India's deserts or Columbia's coast. 
When Paris late, with wishes still misplac'd, 
Of rival London caught the reigning taste, 
Our town and court, our houses and the scene, 
Each paid its tribute to the humour mean > 
Inventors once, to clumsy copies sunk, 
Our clubs with punch and politics were drunk % 
Beneath the awkward jockey horses groan'd, 
And each his whisky, tea, and vapours own'd ; 
While proud Versailles the public rage partook, 
Ourbanish'd arts their native rights forsook. 

Between our garden and the English park, 
I'm still suspended when their scenes I mark : 
Not that my Muse the latter would suppress ; 
She loves its practice, but proscribes excess, 
Struck with the beauty of our Gallic trees, 
Spite of their antique forms, that still can please, 
The skilful farmer from his verdant woods 
Nor oak or beeches or the elm excludes. 



44 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Exotics, to be encouraged. 

But if some foreign tree, of noble size, 

"With boughs majestic should adorn the skies, 

Our forest natives with attention meet, 

And hospitable care the stranger greet -, 

Pleas'd 'mongst themselves his future dwelling make, 

Not for his scarceness but his beauty's sake : 

If haply profit too should join with grace, 

To civic honours they admit his race. 

From [5] Alpine heights the cytisus is seen ; 

Thus o'er [6] our streams do Eastern willows lean 

In pensive guise ; whose grief-inspiring shade 

Love has to Melancholy sacred made : 

The [7] stately poplars o'er our fields that grow, 

Admit their brethren from the distant Po ; 

No more [8] the cedar to the turban bends 5 

For us th' imperial tree from Lebanon descends, 

Cheer'd by the prospect of your vassal trees, 
How shall your walks amidst the country please ! 
Through them thy thought, that wanders from its home. 
To distant climates shall in safety roam. 
Yon verdant pines, that midst the winter smile, 
Offspring [9] of Scotia or Virginias soil, 
The world's extremes within their branches join'd, 
To either hemisphere convey thy mind 5 



CANTO II. 45 



Exotics, to be encouraged. 



The [ i o] thayau gives you China's fruitful lands, 
And where [ 1 1 ] Judaea's tree its bloom expands 
Of purple hue, to Fancy's eye it shows 
The fertile banks where hallow'd Jordan flows. 
While daily thus you soil and climate change, 
O'er rude or polish' d scenes alike you range , 
Each plant you see presents a country new, 
And every thought affords a voyage too. 

Thrice blest the man, whom subject woods surround, 
Or when with foreign trees he decks his ground, 
Or when his skill or industry improves 
The native beauty of his country groves ! 
Each tree a child, your aid their weakness rears, 
Directs their youth, and tends their drooping years : 
Their different bents you mark with studious eye 5 
Their laws you give 3 their manners you supply : 
Correcting thus their flow' rets, fruits, and leaves,, 
Your potent hand Creation's work atchieves. 

If equal care thy beftial troop should find. 
New strength and beauty shall adorn their kind. 
Attend their offspring, and the dams select 5 
The marks of breed encourage, or reject j 
To those who bless thee with their native stores^ 
Adjoin a different rac- from different shores, 



46 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Beasts that degenerate in strange Climates. 

But to the spot adapt thy careful toil 5 

Nor force the stranger to desert his soil., 

That sullen still, as if to mock thy pain, 

Denies to couple with his kindred train; 

Or else, descending from his primal race, 

Forgets the lineage which he ought to trace. 

Yon Indian fowl, whose beauties, once so gay, 

But ill the horrors of his cage repay, 

Yields to the bird, that, warbling 'midst our groves, 

Nestles with us, and wooes his sylvan loves. 

Mov'd from the precinct of his native plains, 

With us the tiger still his bride disdains : 

The lion too, with blood of boiling heat, 

Loaths the caresses of his tawny mate. 

Transport our dogs to Afric's sultry coast, 

Changing alike, their voice and marks are lost. 

Our [12] dames in Asia keep their milk supprest, 

And trust their infant to an Indian breast. 

Adopt those tribes alone, whose yielding bent 

Is with your climate and your fields content : 

Deserting thus Helvetia's rocky heights, 

The wanton heifer with our bull unites $ 

The vent'rous kid, that climbs the mountain's breast, 

Clings to our cliffs,, and leaves his native East \ 

While richest flocks, from Spain or Afric's shore, 

Train near the British ram their fleecy store. 



CANTO II. 47 



Country Scenes, Pleasures of, 



Here through our forest neighs the Barb'ry steed, 
Or Albion's race- mare bounds along the mead 5 
Their offspring near, that frolic o'er the grass, 
By turns pursue, by turns each other pass - 7 
With mutual challenge lead the rival chace, 
And weave [13] the mazes of their sportive race. 

Ye blissful sights ! ye landscapes ever gay ! 
What scene with your's shall equal charms display ? 
Oh ! if my latter days by bounteous heaven 
Free to my own disposal had been given, 
Next to the solace of my peaceful Muse 
Delightful culture should my life amuse. 
Is there a sweeter toil ? where calm, yet still employ'd, 
Each modest wish is by the sage enjoy'd j 
Around his gardens and his waving grain, 
His bending orchards and his fleecy train 5 
Where'er his wand' ring footsteps he shall guide., 
Still bright-eyed Hope is smiling at his side. 
He marks the vine-shoot cling around its stay. 
Or for the fruit that ripens on the day, 
Or budding flow' rets, struggling to be born,, 
He courts the clouds of eve, or dew of morn, 
Or noon-day mists \ while, as their treasures ope^ 
His doubts and fears give added gust to hope. 



48 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Author's Wishes disappointed. 



While gifts or promises around him pour, 
He sows or waits, collects or counts his store. 

Such joys I wish'd, ere life should quite expire, 
And hope already, wing'd by my desire, 
^Though small the heritage she wish'd to gain, 
Install'd my fancy in her proud domain. 
While bowers, and groves and orchards round me wav'd, 
What verdant banks my winding streamlet lav'd ! 
How dear my flow' rets, and my cooling shade ! 
What fatt'ning flocks along my pasture stray'd ! 
All laugh'd around me, and my fancy dreams 
O'erflow'd with fields of corn and milky streams ! 
Short-liv'd chimeras ! impotent and vain ! 
The broils of state that o'er my country reign, 
Have left me nothing but my sylvan reed. 
Adieu, my flocks, my fruits, and flowery mead ! 
Ye groves of Pindus, shades for ever green, 
Transport me now to your poetic scene! 
If Fate forbids to cultivate the plains, 
To them at least I consecrate my strains. 
Each rustic god his prosp'rous aid supplies, 
The mountains listen, and the wood replies* 

Like me, enamourd of the sylvan art, 
Of sylvan honours wouldst thou claim thy part, 



CAXTO II. 49 



Rocks, blown up. 



Let not thy efforts seek a worthless meed ; 

The fields to combat and to conquest lead. 

Seest thou yon barren hill, that, southward turn'd, 

Feels its bare rock by raging Phcebus burn'd ? 

Haste to its aid 3 and let thy useful toil 

From sterile cliffs create a fruitful soil. 

Wide o'er its vanquish'd steep to plant the vine> 

Mars, lend thy thunder to the* god. of wine, 

The martial process bids the mountain shake,, 

Burnt to its entrails 3 while in thunders break 

Its bursting sides 3 torn from their native bed 

The splinter'd rocks their smoky ruin spread, 

But soon the spot, with cheerful vineyards crown'd, 

Smiles from the brow where cliffs before had frown'd ; 

And sweetest nectar from its fruit receiv'd, 

Sweeter to thee as by thy toil achiev'd, 

Shall bid thy friends in glad assembly meet, 

With orgies gay to celebrate the feat, 

On yonder side, a loose and moving land, 
Swept by the waves, and at the wind's command.* 
Shews to the saddening view a barren tract : 
Yet e'en from this thou tribute mayst exacts 
If, bold corrector of the meagre coast, 
Thy art o'er Nature may its conquest boast* 

E 



50 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER, 

Artificial Soils. 

Thus Malta's soil has early learnt to smile 

With verdure borrow'd from another isle : 

Its rock, renown'd for deeds of bold emprise, 

That sees afar the smokes of Etna rise, 

Receiv'd its soil from fertile Enna's plains ; 

So smiles Sicilia through her rich domains. 

The distant ground, that seas incessant lave, 

Loos'd from its hold and floating o'er the wave, 

Clung to the cliff; when, lo ! the barren earth, 

Which scarce suffic'd to give the rosemary birth. 

By dint of art, upon its burning side 

Produc'd the fig and melon's juicy pride $ 

Or amber'd raisins, that perfume the scene ; 

Or orange-groves, with boughs for ever green „ 

There laurels only without culture grow, 

Reflected gaily from the lake below. 

The rock [14], so long by summer's heat consumed, 

At length its autumn and its spring assum'd. 

Daee, if thou canst, this prosperous toil pursue; 
Enrich the cliffs, where never verdure grew, 
With low-land soil ; so shall a fruitful stock 
Conceal the sadness of the naked reck. 
But when the winds and seas exert their rage, 
Let low-built walls the dread attack assuage. 



CANTO II. 51 



Gemenos, Description of. 



Oh ! laughing Gemenos [15], with pleasures crown'd, 

So from thy sides the vine- tree nods around; 

The fig and olive, am'rous of thy land, 

Their richest verdure o'er the vale expand. 

There borrow'd earth, procur'd by costly toil, 

Displays the produce of a virgin soil. 

Happy the man, that in thy blooming vale, 

With softer breath where blows the wint'ry gale, 

Beneath thy orange shades enjoys the day, 

When vermeil skies emit the solar ray, 

Inhales their sweets, and, like their verdant bowVs, 

In Winters bosom mocks the freezing hours ! 

The noble Art, that animates myftrain, 
Its fame confines not to manure the plain, 
But bids, to call its treasures into use, 
Wave, wind, and flame their potent aid adduce 
Of steel, of brass, the conquest it achieves, 
And hemp or wool to varied tissue weaves. 
Far from the uplands green, or valleys low, 
Ascend with me the mountain's rugged brow : 
Dreadful abode ! whence dashing torrents pour, 
Where rolls the thunder, and the whirlwinds roar. 

-Ye mounts, that, oft by Contemplation sought, 
Have driv'n the brightest valleys from my thought, 



£2 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Waters, Benefits arising from. 

Still let me see those rocks with grandeur crown* d, 
And hear the falling flood's impetuous sound ! 
Oh ! who shall place me where the darksome shade 
The secret path- way has impervious made ! 

The time is fled, when from the mountain s height 
I woo'd fair Science to my longing sight. 
Contented now to teach th 1 industrious swain> 
I call on Skill, Necessity and Pain : 
I bid him stop the flood's tumultuous tide, 
That rolls its vagrant course from side to side ; 
In channels deep the conquer d waves to bind, . { 

That now divided, now together join'd, 
May raise the lever, circulate the wheel, 
Divide the silk, or tame the hardy steel* 
Here the rough torrent forms, with docile aid> 
The fleece of Pales or Bellona's blade 5 
There, launch'd like lightning, o'er the surgy deep> 
Destin'd for distant seas, the vessels sweep : 
While here Annonay sees for Didot's skill 
The sheet prepar'd his future lines may fill. 
The country teems with life ; the echoes round 
The forge, the factory, and the waves resound > 
Its rocks subdud, by man sublimely grac d, 
The mountain smooths its brow, and laughs the waste* 



CANTO II. 53 



Waters, Benefits arising from. 



Each stream or streamlet, round thy lands that flow, 
Some salutary aid should still bestow. 
The rustic Gods, and Dryads, in their turn, 
Derive their treasures from the Naiad's urn, — 
Most in those climates, where the burning god 
Darts to the bottom of the dying sod \ 
Where scarce the seasons for the soil prepare 
A scanty dew-drop from the thirsty air. 

Not distant far a- running stream is found, 
That lurks behind the mountain's jealous mound. 
Quick o'er the hill a noble conquest dare ; 
Lo ! to the spot thy pioneers repair ! 
The mountain crumbles from the frequent stroke ; 
Whilst, by themselves an easy passage broke, 
The long-arm'd barrows, groaning as they reel, 
In active movement ply their single wheel ; 
Return and go : still fill'd and emptied still, 
They bear the ruins of the falling hill. 
At length it yields \ and through its vaulted side 
Another channel for the wave 's supplied. 
Th' astonish'd Naiad, in her new-found bed, 
To feats of wonder sees her waters led, 
While spreading wide, and branch'd in different tidefr,- 
Each separate stream a new" Pactolus glides. 



<54 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Lima, Description of. 



The flood, exulting in her fresh domain, 
Where'er it flows, bids verdure rise again, 
And, source of coolness, plenty, and of fame, 
Soon pays the price of your victorious claim. 

In [17] Lima's valleys, where the orb of day 
Downward and near directs his potent ray, 
Where, morn and ev'n, the champaign and the vale 
Alternate catch the sea or mountain gale, 
With art inferior, and with less expence, 
Man knows his wat'ry riches to dispense, 
And, as their source he opens or restrains, 
Hastes or retards the harvest of his gains. 
Close to the blushing fruit new blossoms ope j 
Trees give and promise 3 men receive and hope. 
Here from the knife th* obedient vine-shoot grows> 
While there with golden grapes the vineyard glows. 
What though the drops of heaven are still denied, 
Man forms his seasons from the river's tide. 
Delightful scenes, 'midst skies without a cloud, 
That owe no treasures to the tempest loud ! 
Such is the force of Art, when mortals dare 
To vanquish Nature and correct the air ! 

Canst thou not carry from yon marshy ground 
The stagnant water to the channel's bound ; 



CANTO II. 55 



Languedoc, Canal of. 



And, giving Ceres unexpected store, 

Shew heaven the fields it never saw before ? 

When thrown at hazard, from its bubbling source, 

The vagrant tide pursues a useless course, 

Confin a at length within a settled bed, 

Through length ning channels be the waters spread ) 

Soon shalt thou see, upon the docile tide, 

Above, below, the stately vessel glide : 

To different countries shall it waft your stores, 

With foreign fruits enrich its native shores. 

Each want or interest, that connects mankind, 

Through it a ready intercourse shall find. 

By distant lands one common commerce found, 

Earth, air, and sea, the Author's praise resound. 

High in this art Riquet sublimely stands, 
Who, on the labour of monastic hands, 
Though [18] Rome from error had obtain d the praise, 
Still greater wonders by his skill could raise ; 
O'er each obstruction rose his daring mind, 
And of two seas the distant billows join'd. 
Not Egypt's lakes, or Nile with wonders crown'd, 
E'er told such marvels to the countries round I 
Some magic art presents the wond'ring eye 
Streams above bridges, vessels near the sky \ 



56 THE RURAL THILOSO^HER. 



Languedoc, Canal of. 



Roads beneath hills,, and rocks to vaults that change, 

Where countless streams in darksome caverns range ; 

In gloomy ways the wand' ring vessels glide, 

And seem to stem the Acherontic tide. 

At length, by slow degrees an opening found, 

Sudden they see Elysium laugh around, 

'Midst fruitful orchards, meads with blossoms bright, 

And dazzling colours from th' horizon's light. 

At first the waves, that view the steepy height, 
Recoil with terror from the threat'ning sight 5 
But soon from space to space, from fall restrain'd, 
LevelFd with art, or else with art sustain'd, 
As from the mountain to the vale they bend, 
From fall to fall, in safety they descend : 
There winding gently through th' enamell'd mead, 
The stately vessel to the ocean lead. 
Great master-piece, where Nature, foil'd by Art, 
Joins the two seas, that keep two worlds apart! 

But lest these waters, breaking from their bed, 
With force destructive o'er your fields should spread^ 
Taught by example drawn from earliest age, 
Learn to suppress their desolating rage. 
Seek'st thou the means? In emblematic guise 
Ingenious [19] Ovid well those means supplies, 



CANTO II. 57 



Aehelous, Allegory of. 



Stern Achelotis, bursting from his bounds, 
Swept herds and cattle from their peaceful grounds, 
Beneath his wave o'erwhelm'd the golden grain, 
And raz'd whole hamlets from their native plain 5 
With direful rage unpeopled cities vast, 
And chang'd the country to a gloomy watle, 
Alcides came, and, burning to subdue 
The billowing waves, himself among them threw 1 
Stemm'd by his nervous arm their tumults cease, 
And boiling whirlpools too subside in peace, 
Indignant at his shame, the vanquished flood, 
Cloth'd in a serpent's form, before him stood: 
Hissing and swoln, with many an opening fold, 
Along the trembling sand his bulk he roll'd. 
But scarce perceiv'd, Alcmena's valiant son 
Seiz'd in his vigorous gripe, and chained him down 1 
Till, pressed and stifled in the potent grasp, 
His dying folds emit their latest gasp. 
The God exults : " What ! could thy rashness hopa. 
u With me in deeds of hardihood to cope ? 
" Hadft thou forgot, that, in my cradle laid, 
u Two vanquished snakes my infant force display'd V 3 
The river, furious with redoubled shame, 
Still boldly dares to vindicate his fame, 
And rushes on the God : but now no more 
His scaly volumes wind along the shore. 



58 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Achelous, Allegory of. 

A lordly bull, with forehead dark and stern, 
The trembling bank his heels indignant spurn, 
His head is toss'd in air 5 lighten his eyes 5 
He roars, and thunder bellows to the skies : 
The God undaunted sees the war arise, 
With a&ive fury on the foe he rlies, 
And prostrate throws ; each vig'rous knee imprest 
Full on his panting neck, and nervous chest ; 
Triumphant o'er him from his brow he tears 
One bending horn, and as a trophy bears. 
When now the Dryads, and the sylvan train, 
Their wrongs aveng'd, and safe their green domain, 
With grateful gifts the weary God surround, 
With festoons shaded, and with garlands crown'd 5 
Heap their glad favours in the smiling horn, 
With fruits enrich it, and with flow'rs adorn. 

Delightful tale ! whose allegoric charm 
Alike the painter and the bard shall warm! 
Mark, in the serpent, and his mazy fold, 
The winding streams, in various circles roll'd. 
The roaring bull, with imitative sound, 
Describes the billows dashing to the mound. 
His bending horns the branching streamlets shew ; 
The one Alcides f avish'd from his brow, 



CANTO II. 59 



Holland, Labours of. 



That richest fruits and blushing flow' rets heap, 
That marks the recompence which mortals reap 
From streams subdued, in emblematic guise. 
The joys of Plenty to mankind supplies* 

Does this surprise? The bold Batavian see, 
With potent toil, enchain the subject sea. 
Deep in the bosom of the ocean sunk, 
A barrier sure, the oak presents his trunk 5 
No more his boughs, that proudly wav'd on high? 
The spring embellish, or the storm defy 5 
For, destined now a different power to brave. 
He breaks the fury of the rushing wave. 
Yon side, a rushy fence, that bends along, 
By art made potent, and in weakness strong, 
Where the rough surge its dreadful fury sends, 
Eludes its rage, resisting as it bends. 
From hence the conquer'c! soil, and fertile plain, 
Offspring of Art, emerging from the main; 
Near flow'ry meads, with grazing rlock? around, 
The trav'ller, passing by the ramparts' bound, 
Astonish'd, listens, roaring o'er his head, 
The stormy billows, and the tempest dread. 
Hence o'er the land, where toil forgets repose, 
Nature is Art, and Act enchantment grows* 



60 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER* 

JEgeria : Episode. 

Thy scant domains may no such wonders shew, 
Yet they, een they their miracles may know. 
Exert thy skill., and learn by hardy force 
To reap advantage from the river's course, 
Whether its current, warring with thy land, 
Eat through its borders, and consume the strand; 
Or whether now, by lawless freedom led, 
The flying stream forget its native bed, 
And, wildly ravaging the neighbour- field, 
To you the booty of his warfare yield. 
Receive its presents, and its bank protect, 
Th* usurping billows in their course direct $ 
Rule o'er the willing or the rebel wave, 
Thy tributary now, and now thy slave. 

Oft has the land, of loose and fragile mold. 
Disparting sudden from its clay-form'd hold, 
Launch' d on the waters, which in triumph bore 
The floating burden to the neighb'ring shore. 
The new possessor, gifted by the main, 
At sun-rise finds a late-acquir'd domain, 
Whilst the sad owner sees his lands retire, 
His kindred lands, bequeath'd from sire to sire. 

Soft be the strain that sings iEgeria's woes, 
iEgeria fair, whose bliss from sorrow rose* 



CANTO II. 6l 



iEgeria: Episode. 



'Midst Scotia's mountains, on a spreading lake, 

Where moving isles the rising billows break, 

A scanty farm her hoary sire possess'd, 

Rais'd o'er the waves, and floating on their breast. 

Thus, like a flow' ret on the ocean thrown, 

The Grecian Bard the wand'ring isle has shewn> 

Where erst Latona found a resting-place, 

The hallow'd cradle of her god-like race* 

Capricious work of hazard and the surf, 

Of boughs by age entwin'd, or mossy turf, 

Whilst roots and falling leaves their succour thre\Vj 

By slow degrees jEgeria's island grew. 

Around were seen the willow and the reed ; 

No herds majestic did its pastures feed, 

Nor sheep nor heifer bounded o'er the mead : 

Some scatter'd kids, that o'er the island stray'd, 

The sole possession of iEgeria made. 

Small though the wealth her subjects could assure 3 

How little forms the riches of the poor ! 

Oft would her father cling to her embrace, 

And say, ff My child, that bear st thy mother's face^ 

" The island, kids, and meadow, that I see, 

(< Long has my heart in dow'ry given thee." 

On th' adverse shore; of woods and mead possess^ 

Dolon had long iEgeria's charms confess'd ) 



i 



62 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

./Egeria: Episode. 

But, for another destin'd by her sire, 

His thwarting will had damp'd the rising fire : 

Yet potent Love, with persevering skill, 

Their woes to soften, was ingenious still ; 

And oft the billows, to each other's shore, 

Or fruits or flow'rs in mutual presents bore $ 

Oft too would Dolon, launching on the tide, 

His light-oar' d vessel to the island guide, 

By Love directed $ for, in every date, 

Love amidst isles has nVd his favourite seat. 

What though not here was seen the magic land, 

Emerging sudden from Armida's wand, 

A softer charm our youthful lovers bound ; 

To see and love, were all the spells they own d ; 

And if condemn'd of absence to complain, 

Though Pleasure fled, yet Hope would still remain. 

But Love determin'd, to their passion kind, 
To join their hands whose hearts before he join'd. 
Amongst the Naiads, which those isles adore, 
Beauty's first prize the lovely Doris bore. 
No brighter treasure did the silver waves 
Hide in the bottom of their crystal caves, 
'Midst azure tides her tresses shone with gold. 
For her the stream in smoother murmurs roli'd, 



CANTO II. 63 



-rtEgeria: Episode. 



Proud of its charge, that, 'mongst the nymphs admir'd, 

With softer strains Palemon's shell inspired. 

For never yet, reclin'd on Thetis' breast, 

Was fairer Naiad by the waves caress'd. 

The God whose power the winds irripetuous own, 

Had vainly woo'd her to his stormy throne ; 

Eut still she shrunk before the Godhead's force, 

Whose every sigh was as the tempest hoarse, 

Experience knows, that, in the walks of love,, 

Few boisterous spirits shall affection move, 

But Cupid now to Eolus repairs, 
Entangled deeply in his wily snares, 
And, " Listen, Eolus 5 iEgeria fair, 
' e And Dolon, long have breath'd the mutual prayer. 
(< Some other swain demands the promised maid 5 
"Then join with me the lovely pair to aid. 
" iEgeria's island, by the tempest toss'd, 
" Drive o'er the lake, and fix on Dolon's coast. 
" Then shall their hands in happy wedlock join, 
" And, to reward thee, Doris shall be thine. 
€f But, far remov'd from thy tempestuous reign, 
" Her charming grotto let her still retain, 
" Where, shdter'd safely fro 11 the north- wind's beat, 
" The western gale may fan her soft retreat." 



64 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

iEgeria: Episode. 

Thus Cupid spoke, and rous'd the Godhead's heart, 
That bliss to hasten where his own had part. 
One dreadful [20] morn, the winds' tempestuous shock 
Beat on the isle, which swelling billows rock 5 
At length it yields, before the tempest driv'n, 
With force unequall'd that deforms the heaven. 
See sad iEgeria on the bank remain, 
With tears recall her fugitive domain, 
And fears, unjust awhile to Dolon's view, 
Lest with her dower she lose her lover too. 
Afflicted maid ! thy causeless dread forbear 3 
For Love and Fortune, to each other dear, 
From mutual blindness mutual succour lend, 
And guide thy island to a prosp'rous end. 
Through many a course it verges to the shore, 
Where pensive Dolon hears the tempest roar. 
Long time in mute astonish ment he sees 
The moving island, and the floating trees ; 
But what new wonder o'er his senses moves, 
When, nearer borne, he views the isle he loves ! 
His anxious eye pursues the swimming wreck, 
Dreads lest the wave or rock its progress check- 
Long at the mercy of the wind and tides, 
At length in safety to the shore it rides, 
And fixes there ) and now, with eager pace, 
How Dolon hurries o'er the much-lov'd place ! 



CANTO II. 65 



^Egeria: Episode. 



He seeks the silent grot and secret grove. 

Where no profaner eye had trac'd their love. 

Has the wild wave's impetuous fury spar'd 

The flowers he water'd and the trees he rear'd ? 

Still shall he find, of love the tender mark, 

Their names united on the wounded bark ? 

Each well-known scene his soul's emotion moves, 

That equal care and equal terror proves, 

With yon sad friend, who, from the howling storm, 

Of some lov'd friend surveys the ship-wreck'd form. 

Scarce does the tempest into peace subside, 
Ere eager Dolon launches on the tide, 
And near the spot, where stood the isle before, 
He finds iEgeria weeping on the shore, 
In grief more lovely : still her isle she sought, 
That, once her portion, now but sorrow brought, 
See ardent Dolon, kneeling at their feet, 
Each tender parent with his tears entreat -. 
{C Oh ! grieve no more -, inexorable Fate, 
ef In taking yours, has giv'n you my estate' $ 
" Then come with me," And o'er the wat'ry plain 
His bark conveys them to their joint domain, 
At first the sudden change their sight deceiv'd : 
But scarce ^Egeria had the spot perceiv'd ; 

F 



66 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

^Egeria: Episode. 

"And, lo! our isle." " Yes," cries the grateful swain, 

M Mov'd by the storm, Love gives it you again. 

r Though great the sorrow thou wast doom'd to feel, 

41 Great as it was, my bliss is greater still ! 

iC So may the fav'ring Gods, our shores that join'd, 

'* Our hands and hearts in blissful Hymen bind !■*' 

Each weeping parent joins th' assenting voice, 

iEgeria's blushes indicate her choice. 

Still shall the isle, to Dolon justly dear, 

Its pristine verdure and appearance wear. 

One sloping bridge unites each meeting shore. 

By grief made sacred, but by Cupid more : 

JSustain'd by art, against its steepy side 

With feeble fury breaks the roaring tide > 

Thus, 'midst the waves, the wandering isle was bound. 

Where Bliss a refuge, Love a Ddos found ! 



END OF CANTO II, 



CANTO 111= 



1 LOVE the man, that, noble in his view£, 
The culture of his land and soul pursues \ 
Unlike the vulgar wretch, whose darksome mind, 
By error shrouded, and to Nature blind, 
Still vainly tries to lift the grov'lling sight, 
Through all his works, to God's celestial height. 
Vainly for him, in landscapes wide display'd, 
Contrasted harmony of light and shade ! 
He knows not how, in secret channels fed, 
From root to trunk the w T andering sap is led ; 
Thence through the boughs its liquid virtue sends, 
Till in the leaves its rising effort ends. 
He heeds not whence the crystal waters rise, 
Or the rich tints of Nature's varied dyes : 
And still, a stranger to his trees and flower?, 
Knows not their name, their lineage, and their powers. 



68 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Nature, different Views of. 

Sad Philomela mourns her callow young> 

Spoil'd by his boorish hand,, and Spring its song. 

The Sage alone., who studies Nature's laws, 

Sincerest pleasures from the country draws. 

And while the Arts his friendly aid receive, 

For him, and him alone, does Nature live. 

From cares important, that your hours employ > 

The fertile source of all domestic joy* 

Breath'st thou awhile ? with learning's richest store 

Your leisure soothe, and make enjoyment more. 

Three reigns distinct their mysteries display, 

And call their lord his subjects to survey : 

With me advance, where Nature's gifts are seen* 

With me arise, with me enjoy the scene. 

What varied beauties shine upon her face ! 

Here all is beauty, harmony, and grace ! 

Here the thick verdure of the freshen'd grass, 

Where bubbling streams in soothing murmurs pass ! 

There uplands slope, or woods majestic wave ! 

Here the soft shelter of the mossy cave ! 

There dreadful rents, that yawn upon the land, 

Bear the rude mark of Time's destructive hand ! 

Here sterile sands, that whirlwinds scatter wide ! 

Here the rough torrent rolls its rebel tide ! 

Or wild-grown moss, and heath, and rugged thorn, 

Shew the sad image of a soil forlorn ! 



CANTO III. 69 



The Deluge. 



All ill or good ! a blessing or a scourge ! 
But shouldst thou dare thy bold inquiry urgej 
And deeply search the causes and effect, 
Let not that doubtful wit thy zeal direct, 
That now affirms disorder rules the ball, 
And now that harmony presides in all ! 
Of real genius wouldst thou knowledge gain, 
The sect of Buffon shall thy doubts explain ! 

Of old, the deluge, in its dreadful course, 
Loosing the waves, left man without resource ! 
In one vast ocean bade the flood expand 
The rains of heaven and rivers of the land ! 
Where mountains stood, a level champaign spread! 
And where the vales the mountain rear'd its head! 
Beneath one tomb two continents it hurPd, 
Scattering the ruins of the ravaged world ! 
Raised lands o'er waves 5 o'er land bade waters break j 
While second chaos roll'd upon the wreck ! 
Hence buried deep [1] those heaps of blacken d wood, 
Teeming with fire ; the red volcano's food ! 
Hence secret layers, within their earthy bed, 
Bear one world's ruins on the other's spread. 

By milder process to each other bound, 
In different parts are different layers found ! 



70 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Plants, Relics of. 

The waves, that lead along the winding shore 
To distant seas their tributary store, 
Have varied matter carried with their tide, 
That ne'er by Nature had been yet allied: 
Each weighty substance found a sudden grave, 
Whilst other lightly hung upon the wave 5 
Till, from the stream to heavier matter grown, 
They to the first deposit join'd their own ; 
The gathering slime, upon their surface spread, 
Rais'd layer on layer, and added bed to bed, 
While shrubs, unbroken by the dashing flood, 
Stamp'd perfect forms upon the gather'd mud. 
Thrown amongst us, or by the raging tide 
Of rolling lake, or stream, or ocean wide, 
What though these relics to the sight display 
Plants [2] amongst us that never saw the day, 
Their forms unalter d, and their beds profound, 
That stopp'd the billows as they beat around 5 
Or oft [3] two lay'rs, that o'er each other rest, 
With the same branches upon each impress'd, 
Convince the Sage 5 whose nice discernment sees 
A cause in all, that works by slow degrees. 
Incurious he to draw their distant source 
From the wild ravage of the deluge' course, 
Effects consistent his researches trace 
In Nature s walk, and Time's progressive pace* 



CANTO III. 71 



Rivers, Course of, choked. 



Remark yon hamlet, that, in mould'ring wrecks, 
Some dire disaster mournfully bespeaks ! 
What evils caus'd it, let our zeal inquire, 
Or from the place itself or village sire, 
Within the hollow of the rocky steep 
The source of future streams lay buried deep j 
Th' assiduous waters, slowly filtering through, 
Aided by time, their reservoirs o'erthrew. 
Sudden the hills, with dreadful noise that broke, 
Fill up the river, and its bason choke : 
While, thrown with fury from their native bounds, 
The waters rise in mass, and break their mounds ; 
With scatter'd fragments of the rock and wood, 
They sweep whole cities in the furious flood ! 
Within the concave of yon hallow' d space, 
Still may the eye its dreadful ravage trace. 
Where oft the hermit, o'er the ruins bent, 
In [4] lengthened tale, relates the dire event, 
Pour'd from the summit of yon darksome brow, 
Rush'd sudden torrents on the vale below ! 
The wild eruption of the roaring tide 
Form'd other lakes, and other streams supplied. 
Seest thou yon mo unt, against whose barren sides 
The bleak north-east eternal warfare guides ? 
The weeping sky, detaching with the rain . 
Its loos end soil, convey'd it to the plain, 



72 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

■■- .*■ ■ ■ ■ ' ■ » 

Hurricane, Effects of. 

And left its summits, towering to the air, 
Despoil'd of riches, and of verdure bare ! 
Far from the prospect of these naked rocks, 
Whose gloomy scene th' afflicted eyesight shocks. 
Turn we our footsteps to the fields below, 
Each varied soil remarking as we go. 
See on those hills that culture never knew, 
Where first the gods its simple substance threw, 
The virgin earth its pureness still retain, 
Though changd its kind, as verging to the plain $ 
Each varied [5] turn let observation s view, 
From shade to shade, from vein to vein pursue* 

But see the hurricane his flight prepare! 
"Midst darksome clouds he wings his speed through air | 
With tempest, night, and thunder in his train, 
Sweeps towns and forests from the ravag'd plain ; 
Drives back the river to its trembling bed, 
And lifts the ocean to the mountain's head ; 
Hence fields o'er fields, by force resistless, rang* d ! 
Hence streams and hills their first position changd ! 
Th' afflicted earth, bereft of fruit and flowers, 
In weeds of sorrow mourns her gayer hours, 

Th' impetuous fire shall equal fury pour, 
When iEtna's torrents and its tempests roar ! 



canto nr. 73 



Volcanoes, 



The pregnant earth, within whose womb is fed 
The black bitumen, and the snlphur'd bed, 
Fires air and tide, and from its darksome caves 
O'er its own offspring sheds the boiling waves. 
Too striking emblem of the furious heat 
That fires the heart, when warring passions meet, 
When, bursting sudden from the inmost soul, 
O'er life's fair produce they destruction roll ! 
Yon cakin'd rock and yonder blacken'd ground 
Too well announce where rag'd the flames around—* 
Volcanic frames — though now their rage is dead, 
And Ceres smiles, and Flora's blossoms spread. 
Of yonder steeps, whose sides each other face, 
Though one has lost, one still retains the trace, 
The lava here its fiery torrent pour'd ! 
On yonder bed the rushing billows roar'd ! 
Till further on the tide's expansive force 
Exhausted stood, and sudden checkd its course. 
What potent streams this dire misfortune dried! 
What mountains sunk ! what wretched mortals died \ 
Th' imperfect tale has reach'd these later years 
From times of old, and gives us all their fears ! 
Here shall the farmer, on some future day, 
Where towns immers'd beneath the torrent lay, 
Strike on the ruins with his driving share^ 
The gulf discover^ and its secrets bare, 



74 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Cities, subterraneous, 

<* ■ ■ - ' 

With silent awe th' astonished eye shall scan 

This buried monument of arts and man 5 

Of antique domes the unaccustom'd sight. 

The circus, palace, and the temple's height 5 

The schools or porches, where the sage of old 

To listening crowds the moral lesson told ! 

Where human figures every dwelling till, 

Their looks unaltered, as if breathing still : 

Light forms ! th£t now would crumble at a breath, 

Fix'd in the posture as surpris'd by death ! 

Some anxidus bear their children or their gold ; 

And some their works, their richest treasure, hold ; 

Yon pious man his guardian god defends 5 

Yon duteous son beneath his parent bends. 

One [6] lifts the goblet 5 who, with garland crown d, 

His latest hour, his latest banquet found. 

Glory to [7] BurTon ! who, to guide the sage, 
Rais'd seven beacons o'er the sea of age ! 
The world's historian, in his efforts grand, 
He drew its changes with a master-hand ; 
Yet scarcely moving from his lov'd retreat, 
He judg'd the globe from Mont-bar's shady seat. 
Like [8] potent kings, he sought his envoys' aid, 
And, on their faith, he Nature's work display 'd» 



CANTO III, 75 



Volcanoes. 



Oh ! had his footsteps trod Limagna's ground, 
My native soil, with gladsome pleasure crown'd, 
That time's wide annals to the sight unroll, 
What raptures new had open'd on his soul ! 
There three volcanoes rise upon the view, 
Distinct their beds, distinct their currents too 5 
In dreadful marks, the yawning lands display 
The countless years that since have rolPd away ! 
While some lie buried in the sea profound, 
Some gain'd the seat where ocean dash'd around. 
The first from side to side its torrents shed -, 
The next in waves of fire its fury spread. 
In yon deep trenches, deeper still from time, 
Where other days present their scenes sublime, 
Those dreadful fires, in different ages lost, 
Seas o'er volcanoes, or beneath them toss'd ; 
There primal chaos to the mind is brought, 
And endless ages weigh upon the thought* 

Yet ere we quit the mountain and the plain, 
Of broken marble take the lightest grain 5 
In rich memorial from its veins are shewn 
The varied ages that its form has known ; 
Rais'd from deposits of the living world, 
By Ruin's Self 'twas into being hurl'd* 



76 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Sea, its Wonders. 

To shape its form, cemented by the tide, 
What races fell, what generations died ! 
How long the sea upon its substance press'd ! 
How oft the waves have roll'd it in their breast ! 
Of old, descending to his steepy bed, 
The ocean left it on the mountains* head - } 
Again the tempest to the ocean bore, 
Again the ocean threw it on the shore> 
In change succeeding change 5 thus worn by age. 
It stood the billows' and the whirlwinds' rage. 
The rise of worlds within this marble read -, 
This marble was a rock ; the rock a seed, 
Offspring of time, of sea, of air, and land, 
Modest coeval of these mountains grand ! 

What fertile source of study and of joy, 
With thoughts unnumber'd, would your time employ* 
Should the vast, ocean, from his rich domain, 
Still nearer shew the wonders of his reign ! 
Tremendous sea ! what mortal at thy sight 
Feels not his bosom seiz'd with awful fright ? 
My infant eyes were struck with early dread, 
When first I saw thy boundless surface spread t 
How man and art thy varied scenes enrich ! 
There human genius reach'd its noblest pitchy 



CANTO Til. 77 



Sea, Productions of. 



Made countless vessels, hanging on the main, 

Of states and worlds the medium and the chain. 

Deep as the sea itself, thy thoughts demand 

The hidden wrecks of many a warlike land ; 

Whole fleets immers'd within the briny grave, 

And troops and treasures buried in the wave. 

Or with [10] Linnaeus, plunging to his bed, 

Mark where the groves, of reed and fucus spread, 

By us unseen, till by the tempest thrown, 

That for the seas another Flora own -, 

The sponge, the cord, and the polypes' nest, 

Strange work [i i] of seas and insects in their breast, 

What streams from hence derive their secret source> 

What floods renown d achieve their mighty course. 

Sometimes [12] thine eye those monsters shall pursue, 

Like distant rocks, that rise upon the view 5 

Or now thy thoughts, with Button's aid, explain 

The many changes of its noisy reign 5 

Its grand events ; its tides, that rise or fall, * 

As on its axle turns the rolling ball ; 

Those dread volcanoes, that, from earth's abodes^ 

Of old defied the thunder of the gods ; 

Or those, whose ardent fires, profoundly plac'd 

^Beneath the bottom of the briny waste, 

Some future day, the burning rock shall urge, 

In smoky ruins, o'er the foaming surge*-* 



78 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Sea, Effects of. 

Remark yon capes, that o'er the tide impend, 
Those gulfs, whose shores the waves alternate rend 5 
Those mountains, buried in the ocean vast, 
The Alps of future or of ages past, 
Whilst hill and valley, smiling to the eye, 
Must in their turn beneath the waters lie. 
Thus earth and sea, in endless changes hurFd, 
Seem each to claim the ruin of the world. 
Thus bites the anchor, where the cattle fed, 
And rolls the chariot, where the sail was spread j 
Worn by the ravage of the breaking tide, 
The world its age in Time's abyss would hide. 

Turn'd from the sea, whose billows ever move,, 
Thine eye the river and the stream shall love ; 
Not those our witlings sing in numbers cold, 
Whose ha:knied strains have made the Naiads old 5 
Turn we to those, whose docile waves prepare 
Effects distinguished, or some wonder rare ; 
Or trace the river to its distant source, 
Or through its mazes mark its changing course, 
As winding on, and spread from side to side, 
Inward or salient angles mark its tide. 

The stream, the well, the fountains shall I sing, 
That soft relief to sorrowing sickness bring? 



CANTO III. 79 



Bathing-Places. 



Amongst whose scenes appears a mingled train, 
In joy and grief, in pleasure and in pain, 
That, when the spring resumes its verdant sway, 
True to the time, their annual visit pay. 
Here limping sires each other's ailment soothe, 
And here exults the giddy train of youth j 
The old splenetic, and the vapour d fair, 
To the same spot in mingled crowds repair \ 
Anna renews the blushes of her cheeks, 
While healing for his wound the warrior seeks | 
The glutton here for past indulgence pays 5 
Each on the shrine of Health his offering lays. 
Their ills, whose burden long their servants bore,. 
And friends, here seek relief, but pity more. 
At morning creeps the melancholy throng, 
At night is heard the banquet and the song ; 
^Here thousand joys 'midst thousand sorrows dwell* 
Like glad. Elysium, in the midst of hell. 

These scenes forsaking, and their noisy train, 
Once more return we to your green domain 5 
High to its magic palace let us trace 
The wat'ry source that feeds the river's space, 
Where yonder mounts, that long have ruled your field, 
Romantic scenes, sublimer prospects' yield. 



80 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Mountains, variously formed; 



O'er their vast rocks, that scatter'd rise in air, 
Methinks that Genius bids the Arts repair -, 
Where, to the painter thousand tints display'd, 
Afford him flood of light or mass of shack ; 
Whence to the bard sublimer strains arise, 
And where the sage pure nature's law descries j 
Dear to the freeborn man and bird of Jove, 
Their brow has seen whole ages round it move, 
Now seeming as an hour. Here learn to scan 
Th' eternal God through all his mighty plan, 
Where Time's wide annals, open'd to the view, 
Display the mountains from the waves that grew 3 
Those, that by sudden fires in air were thrown, 
Or primal mounts, that with the world have grown : 
Their beds so various, and their spiry top, 
Their horizontal form, and sides that slope, 
Mysterious work of ages and of chance ! 
Sometimes thine eye shall trace, with curious glance^ 
The rude-form'd circles of the hanging rock, 
The black basaltes, the volcano's shock, 
The granite, fashion'd by the assiduous tide, 
Whole beds of chist and marble's veiny pride ; 
Pierce to their centre, dive into their breast, 
Where God, and Man, and Nature stand impress^ 
The Goddess now, 'midst smiles of gladness seen, 
With flowers and verdure decks the happy scene 5 



CANTO III. 81 



Jura and Montanverts, Description of. 

Now bold and rough, disdaining every grace, 

Of ancient Chaos she preserves the trace! 

There, as ashanf d to rise upon the day, 

In modest streams the riv'let steals away ; 

Here the loud cat'ract foams adown the steep ; 

Here zephyrs softly kiss, or north-winds sweep. 

Here orchards smile, volcanoes yawn along, 

Echoes the thunder, or the shepherds song; 

Here fertile vales with gladsome verdure crown'd ; 

There richest produce waves along the ground ; 

Here naked rocks, like skeletons that show, 

Spring at their feet, and winter on their brow. 

Hail, [13] pompous Jura! hail, [14] Montanverts dread ! 

Where ice and snow in heaps enormous spread ; 

Where winter's fane, that dazzling columns raise, 

Like changing prisms, a thousand tints displays. 

Its ragged sides, with azur'd dies that glow, 

Defy the sun from whence its colours How. 

Rich gold or purple o'er the mass is shown, 

While Winter, seated on his icy throne, 

Exults to see the God who lights the morn 

Shine on his palace, and his court adorn. 

Amidst these wonders, strew'd by Nature's hand. 

These striking pictures, and these prospects grand, 

Still o'er the scene imagination glows, 

Nor flags the thought, nor does the eye repose. 

G 



82 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Avalanche, Description of one. 



Woe to the mortal, who with hardy tread 
Shall tempt the horrors of these mountains dread ; 
Unless the fire-fraught tube has tried the heap 
Of gloomy frosts that hang upon the steep. 
What grand effects arise from causes light ! 
The bird, oft perch'd upon the mountain's height, 
Loosens a grain of snow ; whose pigmy bail, 
New force acquiring in its rapid fall, 
Sees gathering snows around its circle cling, 
And every move an added burthen bring. 
Trembles the air, when now, with dreadful roar, 
Of many a winter past the gather'd store 
Bounding from hill to hill, from rock to rock, 
Earth's inmost bosom trembling at the shock, 
Destroys whole hamlets, sweeps away the wood, 
Nor leaves [15] the trace where once the city stood. 
Around these falling Alps dread whirlwinds rise, 
Struck by whose distant blast the traveller dies. 
Thus mighty states, oppress'd with growing ills, 
That slowly gather till their measure fills, 
Sink down at length, in long-expected doom ! 
Tyre, Thebes, are lost ; in vain we look for Rome. 
Oh, native France! [16'] the scene of many a woe, 
.How do thy suff rings bid mine eyes o'erflow! 



CANTO III. 83 



Botany, Study of. 



Fatigu'd at length to tread this horrid scene. 
Descend once more upon the champaign green , 
Near the bright stream , along the laughing vale, 
Where shrubs ami vruits their mingled sweets exhale, 
Or flowers or trees, whose branches proudly bend, 
Their different bloom, their different race extend ; 
Through them what interest do your fields present ! 
Observe their varied colours, form, and bent ; 
Their loves and marriage : how the grafted shoot 
Corrects the wildness of the forest-root ; 
Amends its fruits, bids loaded branches rise, 
And to your trees a race unknown supplies ! 
Mark too [17] the sap, that, ere its process ends, 
In course alternate rises or descends 5 
In active virtue, how its liquid power 
Creates the wood, the leaf, the fruit, and flower. 

The various herbs, that countless deck the plain, 
Where scarce the fool a haughty glance will deign, 
Do they no profit, no attraction, show? 
The God who form'd the world made them to grow, 
Their powers [18] mysterious let thy knowledge sift* 
Their useful [19] poisons, and their healing gift, 
Where'er they rise, no part of earth is lost, 
Since e'en the desert may its beauty boast, 



84 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Botanists, Party of. 



Oh ! may thy footsteps still with pleasure trace 
The fragrant dwelling of this humble race ; 
Whether you tread Chantilly's woody pride, 
Rich Mendon's brow, or Marli's flowfy side. 

WoulDst thou these visits more delightful make, 
Let some choice friends the pleasing task partake. 
With ready zeal they at thy call unite, 
Enhance thy joys, and make thy labour light. 
But 'tis not here the sound of sylvan war, 
The horn and trumpet echoing from afar ! 
Graze on, ye herds, amidst your peaceful shade, 
Nor you, ye feather'd songsters, be dismay *d $ 
They hurt not you : in innocent pursuit, 
They search the varied plant, or tree, or root ; 
From wood or mead, from mountain and from plain, 
The Herbal waits its present to obtain. 
The morning air, the freshness of the day, 
Calls Flora's students to their task away, 
While Jussieu leads them, eagex* to explain 
Each part that forms the vegetable reign : 
Sometimes of blended plants they form with art 
A specious whole, from many a borrow' d part 3 
With smiling goodness he the work receives, 
And to [20] each plant its borrow'd fragment gives* 



CANTO III. 85 



Subject continued. 



In these researches emulous to shine, 

O'er every flower with ardour they incline, 

The petal, stamen, and the pistil trace 

Of common blossoms or of unknown race 5 

The first well-pleas'd you mark with grateful sight, 

And view the last through hope's bewitching light. 

The one an ancient friend, whose face you love ; 

A stranger one, you must in future prove. 

What sudden pleasure, when some object rare, 

Confin'd peculiar to one soil and air, 

More precious far from expectation grown, 

By some bless'd turn upon the sight is thrown ! 

The Pervanche so, with us that never grew, 

Its long-sought blossom gave to Rousseau's view ; 

He marks the treasure with an eager glance ! 

" Great God! the Pervanche!" and his hands advance, 

Sudden to seize the prey : not more delight 

Feels the fond lover at his mistress' sight. 

Now Nature calls -, and see the rustic meal, 

New force that gives, suspend awhile their zeal. 

Near the cool bank that winding streamlets lave, 

Lo! Bacchus fresh'ning in the Nayad's wave! 

The trees a ceiling 3 songs the birds afford ; 

Th' horizon pictures j and the sod their board : 

The cherry rich, the strawberry [21] of the wood, 

With search successful that their care pursu'd, 



86 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Subject continued. 

The egg, and apricot of yellow die, 

And milky bowl, the frugal meal supply ; 

While, rous'd to hunger by the pleasing task, 

Their taste no aid [22] from Meot's art shall ask. 

Their songs to Cybele and Flora sound, 

With endless youth and endless beauty crown'd ! 

Those nothings leaving, form'd by Fashions breath, 

By veering Fashion too consign d to death, 

They tell of God, of gifts the boundless source, 

The world's great secrets, and of Nature's course. 

At length they rise, and o'er the fields anew 

From wood to mead or hill their search pursue 5 

At night the Herbal, on its ready leaves, 

Each [23] conquer' d plant triumphantly receives, 

Yet to these humbler tribes has prudent Heaven 

Imperfect life and narrow'd instinct given. 

The brute creation, nearer to our own, 

Less strangers too, with happier ease are known. 

Whether as subjects or as foes they live, 

Or with their friendship their attendance give, 

Their tribes unnumber'd trace with curious eye, 

Whether in woods or darksome dens they lie -, 

The light-wing'd guests, that in your branches perch 

Or peaceful life, in fold or hamlet, search ; 

Those that attack, or wait the sylvan fight, 

Those beneath earth, or on the mountain's height. 



CANTO III. 87 

Natural Curiosities, Cabinet of. 

And while thy search their arts and manners sees, 
Mark well the small and delicate degrees, 
Where [24] changing instinct, through each living link, 
Or towers to man, or to the plant shall sink, 

With added gust such pleasures wouldst thou taste, 
In one small circle be these objects plac'd 3 
Three adverse reigns, astonish'd to unite, 
At once shall give their subjects to thy sight : 
Where all their own repository find, 
Rang'd in departments, or in classes join'd 5 
The world and nature, in abridgment shown, 
Of endless pleasure make the source thy own. 

But check the progress of thy vasty toil > 
First choose thy objects from thy native soil, 
Where, daily seen, they own thee for their lord, 
And, born with thee, shall greater joy afford : 
Of varied mines, in earth's recesses spread, 
Take the bitumen from its native bed ; 
Each soil, and salt 5 the stone, whose form contains 
A secret fire, that preys upon its veins ; 
Each colour' d metal, and the crystal's pride, 
The rock's rich offspring, lucid as the tide \ 
The [25] clay, whose substance when the flames shall try, 
For polish'd lustre with the glass may vie 



88 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Subject continued. 

The [26] hardening wood, its native form- that leaves^ 

And from the wave a stony coat receives 5 

Whether the slime around its surface grow, 

Or to its pores petrinc moisture go : 

In shojrt, each object, that derives its birth 

From, fire and air, from water and from earth. 

M(4p'<eurious still, more anxious to explain 

The fertile stores of vegetable reign, 

There let me see, in artful union spread, 

The sea-born varec show its colour' d head 5 

The [27] creeping lichen, that for friendly aid 

Clings to the bark, beneath the oaken shade ; 

The potent agaric, to wounds applied, 

That stops the gushing of the sanguine tide ; 

Whose spongy substance to its bosom takes 

The crackling spark, as from the flint it breaks > 

With them the nenuphar, from humid site, 

The bane of pleasure, foe to Love's delight ; 

Those [28] plants and boughs, that swarming life contain, 

The wondrous subjects of each rival reign. 

The living world, that equal change may know, 
Shall greater charms from happy contrast show ; 
One spot shall throw upon th' astonished eye 
Tiie royal eagle, and the pigmy fly ; 



CANTO III. 89 



Birds, Beasts, &c. 



Those birds that here the circling seasons stay 5 

Those that ere winter wing their flight away } 

The shapeless bear, the roe-buck's graceful height. 

The slow-pac'd turtle, and the squirrel light 5 

The [29] beast whose sides a shelly crust defends ; 

Or o'er [30] whose back, in vaulted form, it bends ; s££± 

Here different scales the fish and snake denote -, 

Here the rough hedgehog, and the rat's smooth coat : 

The fish [31] whose small gondola stems the tide; 

The crane that sails without the magnet's guide ; 

The mimic parrot, and the ape's address,, 

That sound or gesture of mankind express \ 

Those tribes that stray not from their dark abode, 

And those who ramble from their home abroad ; 

Those [32] birds with oars, and \;l^\ fish with wings 

supply' d, 
The [34] doubtful citizens of earth or tide, 
Ye countless insects here shall refuge gain, 
You, the last link of Nature's living chain ; 
Whether you mount on wings, or humbly creep, 
Swarm in the air, or wanton on the deep. 

Here then each worm, each caterpillar place ; 
His son, gay upstart, blushing at his race 5 
Insects of every rank, of every die, 
That dwell in marshes,, or in flow'rets lie \ 



90 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

■ ■ ■ ... ■ .... ; ■ .11. ii m . . 

Insects. 

Or those that digging for a secret dome, 

Deep [35] in the budding leaf have fix'd their home ; 

The fruit-trees foe -, or worm, more murd'rous still, 

Whose [36] living folds the human bosom fill ; 

The spider, too, whose webs our wall o'erspread ; 

The [37] fly that builds, or spins [38] the fine-drawn 

thread ; 
Those [39] in whose golden web their tomb is wove ; 
Those [40] that in secret light the torch of love ; 
The [41] fly whose life throughout the year extends, 
Or giv'n at morning with the evening ends ; 
Come, all ye tribes that through the world are strew'd, 
Whose endless race is without end renew'd ; 
In all the lustre of your riches dress'd, 
Your fiow'rs, your pearls, your rubies, and your crest. 
Those guardian-sheaths, those horny cases bring 
That [42] shield the texture of your fine-wrought wing ; 
Those mirrors, prisms, with labour'd beauty grac'd, 
Your well-form'd eyes by [43] skilful Nature plac'd ; 
Some thickly sown their microscopes display, 
While some, like telescopes, extend the ray. 
Show me the distaff, augre, and the dart, 
Arms [44] for your combat, or the tools of art 3 
Those wary horns, that, branching o'er the eye, 
With careful feel the doubtful pathway try ; 



CANTO III. 91 

1 
Cabinet of Curiosities, continued. 

Your [45] drums and clarions nearer let me know, 
That speak whene'er with rage or love you glow ; 
Or leading heroes to th' embattled grounds 
To charge, to danger, and to conquest sound ; 
Each [46] secret spring, each organ let me trace., 
That mock the proudest arts of human race ; 
Completest toil ! from endless source that rose, 
Each worth a world ; for each the Godhead shows. 

Three reigns distinct shall thus confess thy sway, 
Where new-found tribes for daily entrance pray, 
Thy zeal to gain what Nature's walk bestows, 
At each new conquest still more ardent grows, 
A plant or stone that meets the searching eye, 
A smiling flow'ret, or some long-sought fly, 
New charms shall give \ and now, by Fancy's aid., 
Each class, each province, to the mind pourtray'd, 
That long the new-found treasure to receive, 
Through all her works shall Nature's image give. 
The eye, the thought, shall rove in endless change, 
With busy Fancy ever on the range ; 
E'en when the wint'ry frosts thy steps retain, 
Eager she hastens to the well-known plain 3 
O'er mead and wood she wings her rapid flight, 
Till, rising sudden on her watchful sight, 



<?2 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Order recommended. 

Some pebble rare, or shrub, or blushing flower, 
Chains her attention, and suspends her power. 
And when compell'd thy lov'd retreat to leave, 
What added pleasure shall the country give, 
When every landscape to the mind is brought 
By fond remembrance and illusive thought ! 
Here the rough billows, as they ebb'd or flow'd, 
Some fucus rare or unknown shell bestow'd ; 
There, from the bosom of the teeming ground, 
The fragment rare of some rich mine was found ; 
Or there, some insect spread the fluttering wing, 
Or, yet unseen, the gaudy child of spring, 
Some painted butterfly, with eager haste, 
Seiz d on some flower, was in your closet plac'd, 
That, to his kindred join'd, filFd up the space 
That vacant stood, and made complete his race. 
Where'er thou goest, thy treasures too shall go ; 
Yet on these treasures care and taste bestow : 
Let happy order through your closets reign ; 
But most should neatness, simple still and plain, 
That e'en to Want a smiling face can give, 
Through ev'ry class and every canton live. 
Each bird and beast, with careful eye, observe ; 
Let each his posture and his air preserve, 
His look and mien 5 perch'd on the branchy height. 
The bird should seem to meditate his fligh 5 



CANTO III, 93 



Objects, Choice of. 



i 



The weasel show me, with his roguish face, 
His Iengthen'd body, and of narrow space ; 
The fox, with downward look and wily air, 
Some secret ambush in his thoughts should bear. 
To nature thus new beauty shalt thou give,, 
That [47] after death shall even seem to live, 

Those monstrous sights that nature violate, 
Leave to the closets of the rich and great ; 
The misshaped foetus 1 forms with double head ; 
Those bones gigantic 3 and th' abortion dread, 
Betwixt [48] non-entity and being bred : 
The mummy too, in nature's guise that laid 
Disputes with Death the conquest he has made. 
Hadst thou some favourite bird,, some dog belov'd, 
Through all your griefs that has his friendship prov'd ? 
Oh ! ne'er consign him to earth's darksome womb 
With rites that mock the honours of the tomb ; 
This simple refuge to his relics give ; 
In your Elysium graceful let him live ! 
There would I see him, with thy form, displayed, 
Thou whom La Fontaine's song had deathless made, 
Felina dear, that, single in thy race, 
Show'd the dog s fondness with thy native grace, 
Whose wiles or pride, with tender softness join'd, 
Lost the self-love imputed to thy kind ; 



94 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Author's Cat, Description of. 

There would I see thee, as before I've seen, 
With downy covering, and with graceful mien, 
Affecting absence, or pretending sleep, 
Watching the fly, or on the rat to leap, 
Whose deadly tooth shall never author spare, 
But gnaw alike [49] Du Bartas or Voltaire ; 
Or as I've seen thee, with persuasive art, 
Purr round my dinner, and demand thy part ; 
With vaulted back, and tail that wav'd aloft, 
Bring to my soothing hand thy ermine soft ; 
Or else disturb, with thousand wanton bounds, 
The hand and pen, from which thy praise redounds. 



END OF CANTO III. 



CANTO IV, 



Y E S ! [i] the rich aspect of the flood and fields 
An endless source of brightest landscape yields ; 
I joy to see the skies, in azure pride. 
Reflected gaily in the azure tide , 
The crystal waves in lucid sheets expand, 
Or wind in streamlets through the grassy land ; 
The darksome foliage of the wood profound 5 
The corn, that sheds a yellow gleam around 5 
The valley green, with smiling produce gay, 
The deepen'd concave of its form display 5 
Those hills, that lift their summit to the skies, 
While at their feet a boundless champaign lies ; 
As round the world the sun majestic goes, 
And o'er each scene a golden colouring throws, 
Bless'd is the man, whose soul enjoys the sight 5 
But he more bless'd who sings the prospect bright, 



96 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Beauties of the County. 

The scatter d charms of forest and of mead 
Attend the summons of his tuneful reed. 
And gather in his song; whose rival art 
With Nature's self shall equal joy impart. 
Begone, ye puny bards, whose irksome lay 
What oft was better said agai» must sav! 
Insipid rhymers ! has your hacknied strain 
Not yet cull'd all the sweets of Flora's reign ? 
Still must we hear the bounding of your sheep ? 
Still to the murmurs of your streamlet sleep ? 
Still must the wanton zephyr kiss the rose, 
Whose opening buds their blushing tints disclose ? 
When shall the echo of your numbers cease. 
And let the sylvan echo sleep in peace ? 
So poor the strains, that Nature's charms rehearse • 
Oh ! how does Horace, in appropriate verse. 
And varied numbers teeming with delight, 
Describe the poplar and the pine-tree's height, 
Beneath whose pale and darksome boughs entwln'd, 
A hospitable shade the swain shall find, 
And quaffing sit 5 while bubbling at his side 
The [2] rolling streamlet winds its rapid tide ! 
Nature with him in endless bloom behold ! 
Thy song, scarce born, as Nature's self is old I 
To paint the countiy, it must first be lov'd j 
Our city poets, by its charms unmov'd, 



CANTO IV. i)7 



City Poets, Affectation of. 



Whose courtly Muse has rarely left the town, 
Paint what they Ye never lov'd, nor ever known : 
Oh ] ne'er did they, 'midst soft retreats, inhale 
Eve's gelid air, or morning's dewy gale ! 
Read but their song, and every line betrays 
The city-bard disguis'd in sylvan lays. 
With lavish hand, in richest words, they spread 
The crystal streamlet and tk' enamell'd mead ! 
Unless Aurora shine on opal throne, 
-No morning-beam upon the East is shewn ! 
Sapphires and purple must her dress compose. 
And every flower she sheds a diamond grows ! 
They call on Tyre, Potosi, to supply 
The jonquil's colour, or the rose's dye; 
And Nature, best in simple garb array 'd, 
Must groan in loads of silver and brocade ; 
While pearls and rubies o'er her dress are plac'd, 
Their hand disfigures what it should have grac'd! 
Painters and bards, by kindred ties allied, 
Let Zeuxis' words your several efforts guide : 
An upstart painter, emulous of fame, 
Would once pourtray the laughter-loving dame, 
With fruitless zeal ; no happy lines express'd 
The fleshy roundness of the well-form'd breast ; 
The bust harmonious and voluptuous arms, 
Her lovely features and her graceful charms \ 

H 



98 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Minuteness of Description, ridiculous. 



But gold and jewels shone with lavish cost, 
And Venus lay in loads of drapery lost. 
" Rash fool ! forbear/' th' impatient Zeuxis said ; 
" Instead of beauty, thou hast weakh pourtray'd." 

Ye tasteless bards! to you the words belong: 
That which you love alone should grace your song : 
Yet still descend not, in your mean pursuit, 
Those bards to imitate, whose care minute 
Prefers Linnseus to the Mantuan swain, 
And gives to trifling beauties lavish pain ; 
That to the microscope their objects bring, 
And waste their pencils on an insect's wing, 
So novice artists, that with labcur'd care, 
In female charms, describe the nails and hair,. 
Leave brighter beauties by their art untrac'd, 
To paint a mole, beneath the bosom plac'd. 

Enlarge thy style : if e'er by morning s light, 
With glance extended from the mountain's height, 
Thine eye has wander'd o'er the scene below, 
Where woods and stream a varied landscape shew j 
Where uplands slope, or gleams the yellow graia* 
Or flocks unnumber'd whiten all the plain ; 
Or trac'd the limits of th' horizon blue, 
Or circling hills, that fly before the view i 



CANTO IV. 99 



Nature, different Scenes of. 



Such be your model : let your talents give 
These mingled beauties through your song to live. 

The practis'd painter may, with skilful art, 
Bid striking objects from the back-ground start. 
Wouldst thou for Nature all thy efforts use, 
Let not -a- random view these objects choose : 
Let untaught fools, in fancy'd skill, declare 
That Nature still is regularly fair ! 
Yon trees majestic, tapering to the skies, 
Let them (I grant) beneath your pencil rise : 
But yonder oak, whose trunk so wildly bends, 
And o'er the desert- rock its arms extends ; 
Whose boughs fantastic, and of foliage rude, 
And shapeless mass, with verdure thinly strew'd, 
Their rougher beauty to the sight display,. 
Has equal claim to live amidst your lay. 

Oh Nature, power sublime, yet lovely still ! 
That e'en her horrors can with beauty fill j 
That now the bosom melts to soft delight, 
Now, chang'd her aspect, shivers with affright ; 
Now, young and gay, she treads the laughing vale, 
Her spreading garments fluttering to the gale, 
While from their folds the dewy colours flow, 
And flowers and fruits beneath her footsteps grow > 



100 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Nature, different Scenes of. 



The morning sunbeams from her smile arise j 

And in her breath the balmy zephyr sighs ; 

The tuneful song, that bids the wood rejoice, 

And murmuring streamlet, are her changing voice ; 

Now, o'er some wild enthron'd, 'midst mountains drear, 

Where wint'ry stores in icy heaps appear, 

With antique pines her towering brow is crown'd, 

That in the whirlwind clash with awful sound, 

Whilst round her sides the foamy torrent streams, 

And in her eye the fiery lightning gleams, 

Her voice, in thunders or volcanoes dread, 

Bids the earth tremble to its lowest bed ! 

Ah ! who shall seize, in all their varied light, 
The changing beauty of her prospects bright ? 
Or paint her works, with pomp sublimely crown'd, 
From the high mountain to the vale profound ; 
From the proud woods, whose heads the sky assail, 
To the low violet that loves the dale ? 

Now let thy Muse, where grander scenes invite, 
O'er the wide ocean wing her daring flight ! 
To other climes, beneath whose fervid airs 
A richer garb each circling season wears ; 
'Midst the bright lustre of this ardent zone, 
Let Amazon and Oronoque be shewn, 



CANTO IV. 101 



South-America. 



The mount's bold sons, that rival ocean's wave, 

As half the universe they proudly lave, 

And drain those summits, whence their stream is hurl'd, 

The vastest heights, that tower above the world ! 

And near whose sides, in brightest verdure dress'd, 

Birds, out of number, bathe the downy breast. 

Now, slow and deep, in state majestic spread, 

Calm glides the water o'er its silent bed ! 

Now rush the billows through each trembling shore, 

Fatiguing Echo with the dreadful roar ! 

Their weight enormous, and their thund'rlng sound, 

Seems hurl'd from heaven, not rolling on the ground ! 

Paint these rich scenes; their various birds and flowers, 

Where heaven its tints in gay luxuriance showers $ 

The deepen'd bosom of the boundless wood, 

Gloomy as night, that since the world has stood 5 

Those trees and fields, that law nor master own 5 

Those orchards bright, that grew from chance alone ; 

U ntended flocks, and corn that ne'er was sown ! 

Paint all the wonders of this distant land, 

Where Nature towers, majestically grand ! 

Compar'd to which, our Appenine 's a hill 5 

Our forests copse 5 our Danube but a rill ! 

Now turn thy numbers from these fertile lands, 

And paint tire mournful space of Afric sands I 



■} 



102 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Africa, Horrors of. 

Where arid fields, that never verdure knew. 

Or drank of limpid stream or falling dew, 

Burnt to the quick, for ever thirst in vain, 

And fruitful life seems exil'd from the plain ! 

Let the hot sky and burning soil conspire 

T' illume your pictures, and your numbers fire : 

Let the dread hydra, hissing through your song, 

In furrows roll his scaly rings along ; 

Or frightful dragon raise his crested head, 

While swelling venom through his veins shall spread -, 

His vermeil sides in dreadful pride display, 

And light his colours at the orb of day : 

Now let the hurricane impetuous bear 

Th' uplifted sand amidst the darkened air ; 

Rous'd by the sweeping storm, let tigers fell 

And keen hyaenas join the dismal yell, 

Or the proud lion, in his awful roar, 

Through echoing woods his lordly fury pour. 

Thence guide the Muse where earth's last confine lies, 
Where winter dwells, and where the north-winds rise, 
And pour incessant from their stormy seat 
The fleecy snow-fall and the cutting sleet, 
Or balls congeal'd, that drive with rattling sound, 
And fall on earth, and from the earth rebound. 



CANTO IV. 103 



Winter, near the Pole. 



The sky's cold horror let the Muse detail, 
Till Fancy shudder at the freezing tale. 
Yet even here some savage grace appears, 
Where Winter's god his icy palace rears ; 
Whose burnish'd sides, in richest colours bright, 
Those prisms display, that dazzle on the sight, 
In thousand changing hues reflected play, 
And break the splendour of the solar rayj 
Where from the rocks the icicles depend, 
And moving lustres with the pine-tree bend ; 
Where glittering coats the trembling reeds surround; 
And in one mass the azure waves are bound ; 
Dazzling expanse ! upon whose desert wide 
Their rapid car the sons of Lapland guide, 
While gliding lightly, as the reindeers fly, 
Their floating reins in loose disorder lie. 

From these dread prospects let the Muse again 
Fly to that dearer spot, her native plain, 
Where winters mild and gentler suns arise, 
And template breezes blow along the skies ; 
There let her sing our meadows, shrubs, and wood; 
The tuneful thicket and the murmuring flood ; 
Our blushing fruits, that softer colours grace, 
Our humbler flocks, and Flora's modest racef 



104 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Landscape, Man the Life of. 

And, poor of plumage, but of richest voice, 
Again let Philomel our woods rejoice. 

Suffice it not to paint the scenes you view ^ 
As well as paint them, you must int'rest too. 
Oft be spectators in your pictures seen, 
Ajid frequent actors tread your sylvan scene. 
Let man see man in every line you trace ; 
The world's chief honour is the human race. 
Depriv'd of man, the first and best abode 
Is a lone temple, that demands its God. 
But life and culture, movement and delight^ 
Are born anew, and wanton in his sight. 
In every picture man we still desire, 
.And Art, like Nature, shall his aid require. 
On yonder slope, where golden vineyards shine, 
Place then the rustic fair, who strip the vine ; 
Let dancing swains the flowery valley tread, 
And bathing nymphs adorn the river's bed > 
That trembling still,, and fill'd with vain alarms* 
Scarce to the wave will trust their secret charms $. 
At every noise they start with wild affright, 
Blush at themselves, and dread each other's sight. 
Some Faun be near, that eyes the lucid tide, 
And rashly draws the leafy fence aside, 



CANTO IV. 105 



Roebuck, Horse, Sec. Description of. 

Should man be wanting to thy rustic strain, 
Supply his absence with the bestial train ; 
Whether through woods, in savage pride, they roam, 
Or, with mankind, prefer the peaceful home ; 
Those that as generous friends or slaves attend, 
That rise rebellious, or submissive bend ; 
That cowards live, or shine in hardy deed ; 
Whose wool arrays us, or whose milk may feed. 
If those which Berghem's laughing scenes disclose^ 
Or from the tints of Wouverman arose, 
Can interest give ; shall not the poet's lyre 
To equal warmth and equal skill aspire ? 
Paint thou as well ; since ready, at thy voice, 
The sylvan natives, in exhaustless choice, 
But wait the touch of thy prolific hand, 
To spring to life, and animate the land. 
If chance the leaves should quiver in the breeze, 
Trembling like them, the starting roebuck flees, 
As lightning prompt, and quicker than the eye - 3 
In peaceful state the cattle grazing nigh, 
Swell the rich udder, pendent to the ground, 
While close beside their sportive offspring bound. 
But further on, if chance the echoing horn, 
Or female neigh, along the gale be borne, 
Th 5 impatient courser leaps the lofty mound, 
Whose thorny barrier skirts his pasture round | 



106 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Beasts, Qualities of. 

In all the pride of beauty and of blood, 

He seeks the coolness of the wellknown flood 5 

Or, gay and wanton, leaves the plain behind, 

And snuffs the females in the passing wind ; 

Scarce do his feet the tender herbage graze ; 

His mane, uplifted, undulating plays r, 

Love, youth, and pride, each graceful movement fill - } 

His [3 ] beating steps resound to Fancy still ! 

Still greater interest would thy efforts shew ? 
Let every 7 beast with human passions glow 3 
Give them our hopes, our pleasure, and our pain, 
And one link nearer draw the social chain. 
In vain would BufFon, jealous of their fame, 
Still inconsistent, bar th' aspiring claim ; 
Would vainly see them, as a fair machine, 
Whose grosser life is mov'd by springs unseen 3 
For in his page, that Nature's sons inspire, 
Each gains a portion of Promethean fire. 
What fond attachment in the dog he shews ! 
What docile patience on the ox bestows ! 
While warm to glory, proud of what he bears, 
The steed with man the pride of conquest shares ! 
Each beast by him in native rights enthron d, 
Its separate law and separate manner ownd, 



CANTO IV. 107 



Homer.. ..Lucretius.. ..Virgil. 



Did not the Muse, that sung in earliest age, 
Leave rich examples for the future sage ? 
She who of old, through all her pictur'd plan, 
To gods rais'd mortals, and the beast to man. 
See generous chiefs, in Homer's deathless song* 
Harangue their coursers in th' embattled throng ; 
Once more Ulysses' dog his master eyes, 
And, moving sight ! he licks his feet and dies, 

Too eloquent Lucretius, how thy song, 
And thine, O Virgil, lead the mind along ! 
How, when ye celebrate the bestial train, 
Ye bid it yield to pleasure or to pain ! 
Now [4] with the hind soft pity's tear I shed, 
And loose the steer, that weeps his comrade dead : 
Two chiefs whose rule trie circling herds obey, 
Now rush with fury to the dreadful fray 5 
No more like bulls appearing to the sight, 
But haughty kings, whom rival views excite, 
Arm'd for their Helen and imperial state, 
Urg'd by ambition, and inflamed with hate. 
Their foreheads stern with direful fury clash, 
And the full dewlaps on each other lash ; 
While mingled notes of love and vengeance pour, 
Heaven's concave echoes with the sullen roar \ 



108 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Heifer, Sorrows of one. 

The gazing [ j] herds in awful silence stay, 
Till conquest tell them which they must obey. 

Turn from this view of warfare and affright, 
Where softer scenes to softer thoughts invite. 
Yon mournful heifer scarce has learn d to boast 
A mother's fondness, ere her offspring 's lost. 
Through all the mazes of the darksome grove 
Her voice demands this early pledge of love ; 
Her plaintive cries from hill and rock rebound ; 
He only utters no responsive sound. 
No more the cooling shade or waters sped, 
In soothing murmurs, o'er their pebbled bed ; 
No more the shrub, embath'd in morning rain, 
Or freshen'd grass, where dewdrops still remain, 
Can tempt her now 5 her footsteps still explore 
The well-known fold, or trace the forest o'er 3 
Again o'er each she strays with plaintive moan, 
Again returns, despairing and alone. 
Where [6] beats the heart so harden'd as to view 
Her tender sorrow, and not feel it too ? 

Even to the tree, the water, and the flower, 
The poet's art, in self^created power, 
A feign'd existence, fancied soul may give, 
Where all concurs to make th' illusion live. 



CAXTO IV. 109 



Plants, Instinct of. 



See round the sod those waters fondly twine, 

Those boughs embrace, and yonder circling vine 

Its amorous folds around the elm -tree coil, 

And shun the contact of a hostile soil. 

Let the fond instinct of the plant or tide 

To flights sublime your hardy fictions guide : 

Let the young bud the tepid zephyr woo, 

And dread the season when the north-winds blow J 

Yon thirsty lily? ere its foliage shrink, 

Pour'd by thy hand, the wish'd-for stream should drink j 

To yonder tree its right direction give, 

While yet its docile boughs the bent receive 5 

Or let the trunk admire a grafted fruit 

And borrow'd umbrage, o'er its native root 5 

Yon tender shcot redundant foliage bears 5 

Yet check the knife in pity to his years. 

Thanks to your skill, survey'd in Fancy's eye, 

In every tree an equal I descry j 

Its good or ill my feeling bosom tries ; 

E'en for a plant my sorrows learn to rise ! 

Sometimes these scenes, in native beauty bright, 
From fond remembrance gather new delight. 
Rich through your strains each happy spot appears : 
Yet shouldst thou add, <c There rose my infant years ; 



110 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Author revisiting his native Country, 



(e There broke the light upon my early view ; 

" There first my beating heart to pleasure flew/' 

How does my soul th^ recollection prise !. 

Back to the distant time my fancy flies-, 

When, twenty years in tedious absence pass'<T, 

Again I saw my native fields at last. 

Scarce [7] o'er Limagna's plain had Mont-d'or's height 

In the dim back-ground gleam'd upon my sight, 

My heart beat quick : no more my eye survey 'd 

The verdant upland or the lowly glade $ 

My soul impatient, that outstripp'd his speed,. 

Accused the slowness of the rapid steed, 

And, onward flying, calFd the dearer spot 

Near to my heart, and ne'er to be forgot : 

At length arriv'd, wherever rov'd my eyes, 

Some fond remembrance still would love to rise. 

There stood the tree, that zephyrs gently fann'd>. 

And swept my castles, trac d upon the sand *> 

Here too the stone, my infant fingers threw, 

Skimm'd o'er the lake, and leap'd and skimm'd anew- 

What raptur'd bliss throughout my bosom glow'd, 

When first embracing, while my tears o'erflow'd, 

The hoary swain that staid my early tread, 

The nurse whose milk my infant lips had fed, 

And the sage pastor that my childhood led ! 



} 



CANTO IV. Ill 



Paris, Description of. 



Oft too I cried, " Ye scenes, in beauty dress'd, 

" Where my first years my first desires express'd, 

M That saw me born, that mark'd me as I grew, 

" Ah! where the pleasures which my childhood knew?" 

Let not the pleasing theme engross my strain! 
Come then, ye painters of the varied plain, 
Present those scenes that claim your fondest love > 
And through them all let gay existence move. 
Sometimes let contrast's powerful aid be tried ; 
Place Vice and Innocence on adverse side 5 
To sights of terror softer views oppose, 
And sylvan pleasures to the city woes. 

From yonder uplands, on whose sloping side 
The domes of Paris rise in marble pride, 
While o'er its temples vast your glances stray, 
And stately Louvre, shall your bosom say : 
" For thy amusement, queen of cities round, 
€C Are arts and wealth in brightest union found, 
" Celestial music, finely chisell'd forms, 
iC And deathless works, that native genius warms/' 
Yet soon forgetful of the specious view, 
Thou 'It add, " There pride and meanness flourish too \ 
" On every side, and plac'd in contrast near, 
u The pangs of wealth and misery appear j. 



112 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 

Paris, Crimes of. 

€e While countless crimes, that many a land supplies, 

*' Together brought, in fermentation rise : 

" Of gloomy mien, disdaining lawful love, 

(( See sad Disgust to vicious pleasure move ; 

€€ Or black Self-murder, madd'ning through the soul, 

€< Sharpen the steel, or mix the poison'd bowl : 

" Here too, in lawless bands, the harlot train, 

<c The shame of chastity, and Hymen's bane : 

" In living tombs, where plaintive sickness lies, 

*' That cruel Charity has taught to rise, 

* e 'Midst crowded walls, that reek with tainted breath, 

<c Incessant swells the mournful list of death : 

€e Here hireling [8] robbers watch th' accomplice band* 

€€ And public peace on public Tice must stand : 

rf In darksome dens, of sunk and haggard eye, 

e< The desperate gamester throws the fatal die : 

" What wretched infants, in the cradle left, 

" Of mothers' love, and fathers' smile bereft 1 

<c What secret woes are there! what hidden guilt! 

" What tears are shed! alas! what blood is spilt!" 

From these sad scenes, that shuddering Nature flies, 
Let sylvan views relax the sorrowing eyes ! 
From powerful contrast more inviting grows 
The shade and stream \ more soft the zephyr blows \ 



CANTO IV. 1 13 



Country, Author's wish for. 



The heart, that shrunk, by city-woes oppress'd, 
Once more expands itself on Nature's breast ! 
Thus when to Rousseau, in his much-lov'd shade, 
In distant view proud Paris stood display'd : 
" City [9] of mire, of smoke, and noisy pain, 
* e Where Vice and Virtue undistinguish'd reign ; 
<( How bless'd the man, who, from thy tumults free, 
" Thy noxious vapours and thy crimes may flee !" 
Then, sudden turn'd, his favourite walks he sought, 
Nor broke the silence of his pensive thought. 

Ah, when, alas ! shall he whose rural strains 
'Teach how \l inhabit and adorn the plains, 
Enjoy those scenes where most he would delight ? 
Oh ! fields belov'd, when will ye bless my sight ? 
When may I, now my peaceful slumbers take, 
Now with choice books amuse me as I wake \ 
Now deck with simple grace my rustic bowers, 
And idly pass away the listless hours -, 
Drink sweet oblivion of life's careful lot, 
Unknown [10] to man, and man by me forgot ? 

Let countless figures shine throughout your song - 9 
Mix gay with sad, the gentle with the strong; 
Still let your tone its several objects tell ; 
For sound and sense together still should dwell. 



114 THE RURAL PHILOSOPHER. 



Poets, Directions to. 



In airy lines let zephyr lightly blow ; 

It' smooth the stream, smooth let thy numbers flow 5 

•Hearst thou the torrent roaring from its rock ? 

Let the loud verse resound the thunefring shock ; ; 

When the slow oxen labour o'er the plain, 

At every word should drag the weighty strain f 

When the fleet roebuck Hies and cuts the air, 

The verse [n] should follow like the lightning's glare : 

Thus let your song, that runs in measur'd note, 

Express each movement, and each thought denote. 

Too bless'd thy Muse, if verdant wood or mead 
Or sunny day shall animate her reed 5 
For, when her lay some sylvan rule imparts* 
Then should she practise her poetic arts ; 
If bare the precept, she must grace supply ; 
If sad, enliven y vulgar, dignify. 

The harsher tone of precept to unbend, 
Take space for breathing, and thy course suspend 7 
To cheer thy reader on his weary road, 
Join to thy rules some well-timed episode. 
When Homer sings the labour of the fields, 
A sweet example for this rule he yields 5 
Oft as the ox achieves the furrow' d line, 
Drench'd, by his master's hand, with purest wine, 



CANTO IV. 115 



His goaded sides forget the smarting pain ; 
Gaily he turns to rustic toils again. 
Thus let thy Muse with sweet digression stray, 
And smooth, with soften'd note, her rougher lay ; 
This done, pursue thy course with eager bent, 
And trace thy subject to its last extent. 

But why these lengthened counsels shouldst thou need ! 
Receive one general lesson in their stead ; 
Read Virgil's song! With what harmonious grace 
He calls to sylvan toil th' Ausonian race ! 
Where'er the rustic scene his pencil tries, 
True as the fields themselves his pictures rise \ 
'Tis nature still 5 not yonder limpid stream, 
Where the pale shepherd sees his image gleam. 
More truly gives us, from its azure breast, 
The blossom'd flowers in which its sides are dress' d. 
Sings he the swains, their concert or their loves, 
The golden age through every couplet moves. 
Read Virgil, then ; bless'd if the strain you love ! 
How wretched he whom Virgil cannot move ! 
When in soft sounds, to which the bosom yields, 
He cries, (i Oh happy sire ! that kept thy fields :" 
My soul partakes the hoary shepherd's lot, 
The close he planted, and his native cot ; 



11G THE RURAX PHILOSOPHER. 



Virgil, Address to. 



With him I hear the murmurs of the dove, 
And the wild-pigeon cooing forth his love ; 
The bee, that buzzes o'er the iiorid plain, 
And mountain, vocal with the woodman's strain, 
And grove and stream ; for ne'er in truer dress 
Did painter yet fair Nature's form express. 
But what soft accents on my ears are borne ? 
Tis Gallus' strains, his Lycoris that mourn, 
His [12] absent Lycoris ! his notes entreat 
The piercing ice to spare her tender feet ! 

Virgil ! my guide, and god of pastoral lays, 
"When first my Muse aspir'd to Nature's praise, 
With strictest care my ravish'd eye pursued 
Her changing scenes through mountain, mead, or wood 5 
Back to thy page my rapt attention came, 
And saw that thou and Nature were the same ! 
Forgive my muse, if emulous to raise 
Some scatter d foliage, dropping from thy bays, 
Thy song she imitate with hardy zeal, 
And fail to paint what Fancy well can feel ! 
Thy numbers first inspir'd her earliest flight \ 
They gave no glory, but they gave delight. 

Thus, in the shelter of my lonely rock, 
While groan d the earth with Discord's dreadful shock, 



CANTO IV. 1 17 



Conclusion. 



I sang, with artless voice and unconfin'd, 
Nature and art, the country and mankind. 
Oh would the Gods, propitious to the strain. 
Grant the sole recompence I wish to gain ! — 
In my lov'd fields some seasons yet to tell, 
And live for books, my friends, and self as well ! 



i#d oy CANTO IV. 



NOTES 



canto r 



£i] iSEE him in tore??: scarce does the morning rise, 
The town fatigues, and to the f elds he flies, §c. 

We shall here quote the lines from Horace, of which 
this passage is an imitation: 

Iidem eadem possunt horam durare probantes ? 
Nullus in orbe sinus Baiis prselucet amosnis, 
Si dixit dives ; lacus & mare sentit amorem 
Festinantis heri. Cui si vitiosa libido 
Fecerit auspicium, eras ferramenta Teanum 
Tolletis, fabrL Lectus genialis in aula est ? 
JSTL1 ait esse prius, melius nil celibe vita. 
Si noil est ; jurat bene solis esse mantis. 
Quo teneam vultus mutantem Protea nodo ? 

Hokatii Efistol. lib. i, ep. i. 



120 NOTES TO CANTO I. 



[2] The ceaseless strife 

Of meeting wishes sours the stream of life. 

This passage in the French is a literal translation from 
Horace's line, 

Sincemm est nisi vas, quodcunque infundis acescit. 

Note of the Translator. 



[3] Beneath yon villous pale, whose foliage dank 
Gives added freshness to the rixers bank, &c. 

This passage is confessedly by the author borrowed 
from the celebrated Pope's <( Windsor Forest ;" as in the 
description of the stag- hunt some others are from Den- 
ham. 



[4] Big drops distil, that e'en his mnrdrers feel. 

On the subject of the chace perhaps it might give some 
pleasure to our readers, to compare the descriptions which 
several poets have given of it. For this we may refer 
them to the ninth canto of the " ftlois de Roucher : ,r the 
sixteenth book of the l( Praedium Rusticum " of Vanerius : 
and the r< Autumn " of St. Lambert and Thomson, 



KOTES TO CANTO I. 121 

[5] His boast and honour, more than treasure dear, <Sr(\ 

These lines are evidently borrowed front the well- 
known passage in Cicero : 

Haec studia adolescentiam alunt, &c. 

[6] His usual furniture and fav rite boohs. 

It is known with what grace and attention Stanislaus, 
king of Poland, received the celebrated Madame Geoffrin, 
She found on her arrival in the apartment destined for 
her, the same furniture, books, and pictures, that she left 
in her own at Paris. The friendship and attention that 
superintended this arrangement, and the agreeable sur- 
prise resulting from it, were not the least of the pleasures 
she tasted during this journey. 

[7] The soul of him o'er whom the flow 'ret blows* 

This idea is taken from some travels through Switzer- 
land ) and though it has already been often made use of, 
yet it is so interesting, and so pleasingly melancholy, that 
the Author has again ventured to employ it. u Around 
" the church," says Mr. Robert, in his Journey through 
the Thirteen Cantons, " the graves, covered with pinks, 
" which had been cultivated by the hand of a daughter, 
" brother, son, spouse, or friend, discovered to me, in the 



122 NOTES TO CANTO I. 



€< most interesting manner, the sensibility of those hearts 
€t that have not been deadened by artificial enjoyments, 
" nor degraded by evil institutions. If the season for 
" pinks should be passed, other flowers are substituted $ 
<f and every village throughout the cantons shews the 
€C same attachment for their relatives." 

[8] My name, my homage, and my lays, repeat. 

For the better explanation of this passage, we shall here 
insert two letters, which, some years ago, appeared in se- 
veral journals of the time. 

Letter from the Princess Czartorinska to 
M. l'Abee Delille. 

Forgive me, sir, if I break in upon your leisure : you 
must lay the fault upon your reputation and works, that 
a whole society should address itself to you for the com- 
pletion of an object they have in view. Assembled to- 
gether in a small hamlet where we principally reside, 
friendship, inclination, consanguinity, and a conformity 
of manners, bind us together 3 every thing concurs to 
give us a hope that we shall never be separated. 

It is natural that we should desire to embellish our re- 
treat -, the poem of " The Gardens " has discovered to us 
the means. Sensibility, remembrance, and gratitude, 



NOTES TO CAXTO I. 123 

guide us in the attempt ; and the whole hamlet is at this 
moment employed in raising a monument in honour of 
those authors who have so often instructed, interested, 
and amused us. They will be marked, according to 
their rank, upon four faces of a marble pyramid : on one 
side, Pope, Milton, Young, Sterne, Shakspeare, Racine, 
and Rousseau -, on the other, Petrarch, Anacreon, Metas- 
tasio, Tasso, and La Fontaine; on the third, Madame 
de Sevigne, Madame Riccobini, Madame de la Fayette, 
Madame des Houlieres, and Sappho -, and on the fourth, 
Virgil, Gesner, Gresset, and the Abbe Delille. Each 
side will be accompanied with trees, shrubs, and flowers. 

The rose, the jasmin, and the lily, with beds of violets 
and pansies, will be on the female side ; Petrarch, Ana- 
creon, and Metastasio, will have the myrtle ; and Tasso 
the laurel : the weeping willow, the mournful cypress, 
and the yew, will accompany Shakspeare, Young, and 
Racine : as for the fourth side, the society will choose for 
it whatever may appear most agreeable in their orchards, 
woods, and meadows ; and each inhabitant will plant 
some tree or shrub, to perpetuate the memory of those 
authors who have given them a taste for rural life, and 
thereby contributed to their happiness. 

They only want a suitable inscription to give force to 
their idea, and transmit it to posterity -, it is to be en- 
graved at the foot of the monument, and the whole ham- 
let, with one voice, has fixed upon you as its author.— 



124 NOTES TO CANTO I. 

We request it as well from your heart as your ingenuity. 
This homage, simple and sincere, will be successfully 
paid by the author of " The Gardens/' the translator of 
" Virgil," and, above all, by a man of sensibility* 

We beg you, sir, to give credit to the very distinguished 
sentiments with which we are, &c. 

Answer o/M* i/Abbe Delille. 

MADAM, 

The letter which you have done me the honour to 
write to me, reached me at Constantinople, whither I 
accompanied M, le Comte de Choiseul-Gouffier, now 
embassador from France in the same place that he for- 
merly visited in the capacity of a traveller. You are ac- 
quainted with the noble monument which he has raised in 
honour of Greece. If ever the arts should be recalled 
into their original country, and consecrate one to thos£ 
who have been instrumental in preparing their return,, 
my friend will have a claim to one of the first places in 
it. I foresee that he will leave a name in this country 
distinguished in more ways than one. 

As to myself, madam, who had been so long desirous of 
knowing the beautiful country of Greece, I brought illu- 
sions with me that have been but too soon destroyed. I 
looked for the Athenians in Athens; I found them not, 



NOTES TO CAXTO I. \25 

but discovered from your letter,, replete with, wit and ele- 
gance, that they have taken refuge among the Sarma- 
tians. In reading it, I at first imagined it to have been 
written by some private individuals, amiable and well- 
informed, who, from natural taste, or the mediocrity of 
their fortune, had found the country an agreeable place 
of residence. I found it, however, signed by persons the 
most distinguished in Europe in point of birth, valour,, 
wit, and grace. I was more nattered than surprised : 
your name and rank, madam,, of necessity, give you a 
distinguished taste; I have long known its prevalence for 
the simple and beautiful. The same Virgil, madam, for 
whom you design a place in your hamlet, that will add to 
his fame, seems to have said for you : 

<c Habitant Di quoque sylvas.'' 

I am far from having any pretension to the place that 
you would so kindly appropriate for me, so near to hinij 
in the charming project of your pyramid. It is sufficient 
to have disfigured his poetry by my feeble translations, 
without derogating from the honours you mean to pay 
him. Several persons of distinguished rank, that have 
been pleased to admire my pastoral verses, have caused a 
tree to be planted in their gardens, and called it by my 
name. This is the sole monument that becomes the mo- 
desty of the sylvan Muse : in expressing her fear of mar- 



126 NOTES TO CANTO I. 



bles and pyramids, she only does herself justice ; those 
honours are only due to Virgil, who, in celebrating the 
forests, has rendered them a lit residence for consuls ; and 
if you recollect, madam, that those consuls were, at the 
same time, illustrious warriors and statesmen, the appli- 
cation of the above passage from the Latin poet will not 
be difficult. I am at this moment occupied by a poem 
upon " Imagination ;" I have endeavoured to describe the 
pow r er it exercises on the mind, through the medium of 
monuments : yours, madam, shall assuredly be remem- 
bered. As a recompence for my verses, I would only de- 
mand of the divinity that I celebrate, to transport me 
into your hamlet, and to admit me to your tastes and con- 
versations. If my name should be sometimes pronounced 
among your pastoral scenes ; or my verses, given to your 
recollection by the objects they describe, be repeated in 
your groves ; I shall esteem myself too happy. 

Your society, united as it is by the ties of blood, by the 
love of the arts, and, above all, by friendship, is the most 
amiable assemblage that has yet been seen in Poland. 
That liberty which the heroes of your country and house 
so courageously sought, at the point of the sword, you 
have found, without cost or danger, in the solitude and 
tranquillity of the country. 

You tell me, madam, of the objects of your remem- 
brance , another, in your place, would have spoken of the 
antiquity of your illustrious race, and the honour of being 



NOTES TO CANTO I. 127 



related to the blood of kings. Your remembrance, in- 
stead oi being the offspring of vanity, is that of friendship 
and gratitude } and, exercised as it is upon those famous 
authors whose works have charmed your retirement, it is 
well deserved, and worthy of you. Permit me only, 
madam, to make some observations on the places you ap- 
point for them. Racine merits a very superior one. 
Gresset, who translated the Eclogues of Virgil, seems not 
to have given their beautiful simplicity : he has finely 
painted the follies of the town, but was little sensible to 
the charms of the country. 

As to myself,, madam, my place is not sufficiently my 
own, to give me the right either of ceding it, or fixing on 
another to fill it up for me. The society must appoint 
him : but, in returning your favour, allow me to preserve 
my gratitude. 

In regard to the inscription, which you do me the 
honour of requiring at my hands, I may venture to observe 
that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to express as 
briefly as the project demands, the character of so many 
authors, all of them different in their language, nations, 
and period of existence. I have endeavoured to make it 
simple and concise, in the style of the statuary and anti- 
quarian ; in order to pay, in the fewest words possible, 
that homage which such distinguished personages, in 
their rural retreat, offer to those great authors who charm 



128 NOTES TO CANTO I. 

their leisure hours. I think it will be sufficient to engrave 
on the pyramid : 

€e LES DIEUX DES CHAMPS AUX DIEUX DES ARTS.* 

The inscription, as you see, is written in our language, 
or rather in yours ; it belongs to you, in right of the 
graces you add to it ; and I may say, with Voltaire : 

c 'EUe est a toi, puisque tu rembellis!" 

I imagine that a language in which you daily convey 
your sentiments and ideas, can be unworthy of no monu- 
ment ; I have only found it defective in expressing all the 
veneration, gratitude, and respect, with which I have the 
honour, &c. 

[9] He nods, they part; again, and they affemhle, 4c 

To apologise for the irregularity of the versification, we 
shall quote the original lines : 

" II veut, on se separe -, il fait signe, on s'assemble ; 
i€ II s'egaye, & Ton rit ; il se ride, & tout tremble." 

[10] Suck is the master of the tillage-school, fyc. 

Great part of the portrait of the village curate and 



N-OTES TO CAXTO I. VQ9 

schoolmaster is borrowed from Goldsmith's well-known 
poem of the " Deserted Village." 

[u] E'en so in Caters infant years urjinc^ $?€.' 

Cato, from his earliest infancy, as well in word? as' 
looks, and in all his sports and. pastimes, displayed a dis- 
position uniformly unremitting- and inflexible ; in every' 
thing he undertook he was determined to succeed , and : 
persevered more in it than was natural to expect from his? 
age. If he sometimes withstood the blandishments of 
those who endeavoured to flatter him into any purpose* 
he appeared still more uncomplying to those who wished 
to prevail upon him by menaces. He was difficult to ex- 
cite to laughter, and seldom appeared gay. 

The states of Italy, in alliance with the Romans, were 
obliged to purchase the right of citizenship : Pompsedius 
Syllo, having been sent to Rome on a business of this na- 
ture, as the particular friend of Drusus, lodged several 
daj-s in his house : during which time, gaining some de- 
gree of familiarity with his children, he said one day to 
them, Will you not, my children, intercede with your 
uncle, that he may assist us in procuring the privilege Ave, 
demand ? Caepio, with a smile and motion of his head, 
signified that he would. Cato, kowev.r, made no reply 5 
but looked in the stranger's face v. ith a firm and unmov- 
ing countenance, Pompaedius then addressed him apart r 

K 



ISO NOTES TO CANTO I. 

And will you not too, as well as your brother, intreat your 
uncle in behalf of his guests ? Cato still made no an- 
swer -, but signified, by his silence and air, that he reject- 
ed the request. Pompaedius, at this, grasped him with 
his hand, and lifted him on the outside of the window, as 
if going to throw him into the street ; observing, at the- 
same time, in a more severe tone than usual, after several 
violent shakes, that if he did not promise, he should let 
him fall. Cato, however, persevered in his refusal, with- 
out shewing the least appearance of surprise or terror. 

Sarpedon (his preceptor) often took Cato with him to- 
Sylla's house, in order to pay his court. But it resembled 
at that time a prison more than any thing else, from the 
great number of prisoners that were brought and massa- 
cred there. Cato, who was then in his fourteenth year, 
seeing several heads of distinguished personages brought 
in, and the spectators lamenting and shocked at the sight, 
asked his preceptor how it was possible that no person 
could be found hardy enough to kill the tyrant ? Be- 
cause (replied Sarpedon) that every body dreads him still 
more than they hate him. Why then (replied Cato) did 
you not furnish me with a sword, that I might kill him, 
and deliver my country from so cruel a servitude ? 

Plutarch's Lives. 



NOTES 



CANTO ir. 



[i] £xE trod the verdure of the Mantuan mead, 

Et qualem infelix amisit Mantua campum, 
Pascentem niveos herboso fiumine cycnos, &c. 

VlHG. GEORG. 1. 2, 

[2] New meadows rose beneath his careful hand, fyc. 

The extreme variety of plants found in natural mea* 
dows, the vigorous vegetation of some, and the long du^ 
ration of others., together with the remarkable fondness 
that animals shew for many, have given rise to the idea 
of cultivating some of them separately ; and thus pro- 
duced what are called artificial meadows 5 which have 
enabled the cultivator to feed his cattle throughout the 



132 NOTES TO CANTO II. 

whole year in the fold ; whence they uniformly become 
better formed,, and furnish a greater quantity of milk. 

These advantages were known to the ancients, parti- 
cularly to the Romans, the first of all agricultural nations. 
They cultivated, for their cattle, clover, vetches, barley 
and oats, mixed together* fenugreek, peas, Sec. Sec. 

It is from having adopted so advantageous a practice, 
that the Flemings, Brabanters, the Swiss, the inhabitants 
of Alsace, and, above all, the English, have raised their 
agriculture to a degree of perfection unknown to the rest 
cf Europe ; that they have been uniformly successful in 
growing on the same ground a great number of vegeta- 
bles, different in their nature and species ; and that they 
have established, as the most valuable basis of rural eco- 
nomy, the method of alternating. 

Of all vegetables proper to compose artificial meadows, 
the most generally and justly esteemed are the clover, the 
sainfoin, the trefoil, and their different kinds. 

The Romans placed the clover in the first rank of fod- 
dering plants, and paid the greatest attention to it. Pliny 
assures us that they prolonged its duration to as much as 
thirty years. Olivier de Serres, in his forcible language, 
calls it la meneille du menage. In the southern countries 
it is mowed as often as five times) and Du Hamel asserts 
that an acre of indifferent land, properly prepared, has 
yielded him 20,ooolb. of dry fodder. This is, without 
doubt, an excessive produce,, and out of the common pro* 



NOTES TO CANTO XI. 135 

portion 5 but it may be laid down as a general rule,, that 
elover may be cut three times ; that the three crops 
united will afford about jooolb. or 6oooib. of forage $ 
and that the ordinary duration of the plant is from nine 
to ten years. It succeeds best in soils that are light, sub- 
stantial, and deep. It dreads equally an excess of dryness 
or humidity ; and suffers from a small black caterpillar, 
that destroys its leaves, and from the cockchafer worm, 
that attacks its roots. When given green to the cattle 
it causes violent colics, especially if still wet with dew > 
but this inconvenience is compensated by so many advan- 
tages, that we may form a sure estimation of the agricul- 
ture of any country from the quantity of clover seen 
in it. 

The sainfoin was first cultivated in the sixteenth cen- 
tury. This plant, unknown to the ancients, and trans- 
planted from the summit of the mountains to the plains, 
preserves a sort of rustic hardihood, that enables it to resist 
those distempers that are sufficient to destroy many other 
vegetables. Sandy grounds, that retain some degree of 
freshness, chalky and marly soils, and especially those 
tinged with ferruginous clay, are most proper for it ; in 
these, its root is fifteen or twenty feet deep. The sain- 
foin is sought with avidity by cattle of all descriptions ; 
it has the quality of warming them, and may, to a certain 
point, serve instead of oats for horses. The proper season 
for mowing it is at the period of its blossoming } sooner, 



134 NOTES TO CANTO IT. 

the crop is reduced to almost nothing, by its shrinking; 
later, its stalks become hard and fibrous, and the cattle 
refuse it. 

In artificial meadows, several kinds of trefoil are culti- 
vated -, but the great red trefoil, or the triolet, is the most 
generally known, and the most deserving to be so. No 
foddering plant grows with such rapidity. A few months 
after its being sown, it already offers to the farmer a crop 
sufficient to indemnify him for his labour and expence. 
But in the second year its produce is really prodigious. If 
committed to a proper soil, and covered with lime, which 
of all manures is the most favourable to its vegetation, it 
may be cut four times; and the crops united amount to 
6ooolb. or ^ooolb. of dry forage per acre. In every 
point of view the trefoil is profitable, because it is raised 
upon lands that are destined to remain fallow. If eaten 
when green, it gives abundance of milk to female cattle, 
and of the best quality ; it is sought, however, by cattle 
of all kinds : it fattens hogs, but has the inconvenience of 
causing sows to miscarry. When given green, if not pre- 
viously exposed and dried in the air, it gives more dan- 
gerous colics than even the clover. 

From the result of cultivating the melilot, it were to be 
wished that it were more extended than it is 5 animals eat 
it with pleasure, and it grows with more facility than 
clover in many soils ; sown, however, in that which is 
best suited to it, it thrives to an extraordinary degree* 



VOTES TO CAXTO II. 135 

"The different sorts known under the name of the Siberian 
■me! Hot deserve the preference. 

Vetches, peas, lentils^ lupins, Sec. are annual plants, of 
which temporary meadows are composed. Others are 
likewise formed with rye, barley, and maize. These 
plants are mowed before the beard is formed, and give a 
very abundant and nutritious fodder 3 the maize, in par~ 
ticular, is expeditious in fattening cattle and poultry, 

The spargula is cultivated with success in Brabant, 
The milk of those cows that feed upon it is much esteem- 
ed, as well as the butter made from it, which is known by 
the name of spargula butter. It is an annual plant, and 
thrives sufficiently well upon sandy soil, not wholly desti- 
tute of humidity, The spargula is given when green to 
the cattle 5 and has likewise the advantage of occupying 
the ground but during the fallow season. 

[3] Alike triumphant oxer emy stood. 

C. Furius Cresinus, e servitute liberatus, cum in parve 
admodum agello largiores multo fruetus perciperet, quan? 
ex amplissimis vicinitas, in invidia magna erat, ceu frtiges 
alienas pelliceret veneficiis. Quam ob rem a Sp. Albino 
curuli die dicta, metuens damnationern, cum in suffra- 
gium tribus oporteret ire, instrumentum rusticum omne in 
forum attulit, & adduxit familiam validam, atque, ut ait 
Piso, bene curatam & vestitam, ferramenta egreg-e facta> 



136 NOTES TO CANTO I*. 

graves ligones, vomeres ponderosos, boves saturos. Postea 
dixit : Veneficia mea, Quintet haec sunt 5 nee possum 
vobis ostendere, ant in forum adducere lucubrationes 
meas, vigiliasqne & sudores. Omnium sententiis absolutus 
itaque est. Profecto opera, non impensa, cultura con* 
stat. Et ideo majores fertilissimum in agro oculum do- 
mini esse dixerunt. 

Plinii Hist. Nat. lib. 18, sect. 8* 

[4] To him the system leave, by Rozier plannd, &c. 

M. l'Abbe Rozier, celebrated for his knowledge in 
agriculture, did not undertake to answer for all the cases 
inserted in his valuable collection. Some of them con- 
tain profitable experiments ; while others propose what is 
totally impracticable, or more seducing in theory than 
easy in practice : the author was obliged to publish the 
bad as well as the good. 

[5] From Alpine heights the cytisus is seen. 

This tree, of a middling size, grows there naturally. 
It bears, in the month of May, a beautiful cluster of long 
and yellow flowers. Its wood is hard, and of an ebony- 
colour, green and yellowish, with brown streaks - y whence 
it appears like the wood from the isles. It is valuable to 
cabinet-makers and turners j and in Switzerland musical 






NOTES TO CANTO II. 137 

instruments are made of it. We are not exactly ac- 
quainted with the cytisus of the ancients, for which their 
kids had a decided preference, and which, had the property 
of supplying them with abundance of milk. 

Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella — 
Sic cytiso pastae distentent ubera vaccae. 

Virgil in Bucol* 

The cytisus, cultivated in different countries, is a shrub 
that can only serve for food in the summer. 

[6] Thus o'er our streams do Eastern willows lean, &c* 

Tournefort is the first that made us acquainted with the 
willow with branches inclined, called the weeping willow^ 
and which planted in bowers near a sepulchral monument 
is more adapted to inspire sadness than any other tree. It 
is even probable that Europe is indebted to this naturalist 
for it. Another willow, from the Levant, described by 
Linnaeus, is a beautiful tree, with leaves of the olive kind., 
and with a silver tinge, the blossoms of which exhale an 
agreeable odour,, but which in our climates would fall to 
decay. 



138 NOTES TO CANTO II. 

[7] The stately poplars o'er our fields that grow, #c. 

The poplar is a high tree,, of which there are three 
kinds : the white, the black, and the trembling poplar, 
known generally under the name of the aspen . 

The Italian poplar is distinguished from others in that 
its branches shoot straight from the trunk, that they are 
nearer each other, and make the tree appear in the form 
of a pyramid. It multiplies with great facility, and 
grows in a very short time. Scarcely do trees in general 
begin to appear ere this exists no more. After having 
been planted fifteen years, it gives its owner very conside- 
rable profits. We are assured that in Italy thirty acres 
of this wood fit to cut are worth from eighty to a hun- 
dred thousand livres. 

[8] No more the cedar to the turban bends, fyc. 

The first cedar that succeeded in France is that in the 

jardin des plantes. The epithet imperial suits this tree, as 

, it seems to command all others. We know that there 

are now but few of them on Lebanon ; but in return they 

begin to multiply exceedingly in English gardens. 

[9] Offspring of Scotia or Virginias soiL 

The Scotch pine, likewise called the pine of Geneva, 



NOTES TO CANTO II. 139 

has in the pericarpium two short leaves, and the strobilus 
small and whitish. 

The Virginian pine has three long and narrow leaves, 
rising from each pericarpium, and the strobilus rough 
with prickles. 

[10] Tlte thuyau gives you China } s fruitful lands. 

The thuyau is called the tree of life, because it keeps in 
full leaf winter and summer. The first seen in Europe 
was brought by Francis I. There are several sorts of it 
in the jardin des plantes. In the beginning of spring 
this tree produces male and female flowers on the same 
branch. The thuyau of Canada bears fruit a month 
sooner than that of China j its branches spread in the- 
form of wings, and its leaves are like those of the cypress. 
When placed in a bower, the dark green of its foliage 
serves to set off that of the neighbouring trees. 

[i i] And zvhere Judceds tree its bloom expands. 

The proper name is the tree of Judas 5 the first, vul- 
garly adopted in France, is found in Millar's Gardener's 
Dictionary. De l'Ecluse has said, a hundred years ago, 
Vulgus herbariorum arborem Judae vocant. 



140 NOTES TO CAXTO II; 



[12] Our dames in Asia keep their milk suppress d, §c» . 

It is not for want of milk, but under the torrid zone 
the heat renders it so bitter that the nursling refuses it. 
This fact, recorded in the History of the Academy of 
Sciences of Paris, 1797^ has been adopted by Haller in 
his Physiology. As to the reproduction of tigers and 
lions, it is assuredly very rare in Europe. The lion- 
whelps born in the Tower of London in 1750* an d that 
died in 1762, as well as the tigers born in the same 
tower in 1797, and others in the menagerie of the Em* 
peror Leopold., &c. are no proof against the observations 
set forth in this passage. Besides,, f amain se([uere } say3 
Horace* 

[13] And weave the mazes of their sport he race. 

An attempt has been made here to express the faxunt- 
que fu gas of Virgil, iEneid. lib. 5. 

[14] The rock, so long by summer s heat consuind. 

c< Imagine to yourself," says the Baron de Riedesel, ia 
his Journey through Sicily and Grsecia Major, in speaking 
of Malta, " a very bare and hard rock, the first crust of 
which having been taken off with instruments of iron, 
and pounded and diluted in water, has been converted 



NOTES TO CANTO II. lil 



into soil 5 and still continues to be advantageously used 
by the indefatigable inhabitants." In order to form their 
gardens on this arid rock, the rich Maltese procure mould 
from Sicily 3 and, according to Yolney, in his Travels 
through Syria, the same industry is successfully employed 
by the religious sects on mount Sinai. 

[15] Oh I laughing Gcmenos, with pleasures cfownd, fyc. 

Gemenos is one of the richest and pleasantest valleys in 
Provence. It is situated on the road from Marseilles to 
Toulon. The unfortunate M. d'Albertas, who was assas- 
sinated in his own garden, in the midst of a festival, 
which he gave to the neighbouring villages, formed near 
his chateau one of the most magnificent English wardens 
that exists ; an old church of the Templiers presents a 
more natural and imposing ruin than most of those with 
which we pretend to embellish our modern gardens. 

Mais loin ces monumens, dont la ruine feinte 
Imite mal du temps 1'inimitable empreintej 
Tous ces temples anciens recemment contrefaits, 
Ces restes d'un chateau qui n'exista jamais,, 
Ces vieux ponts nes d'hier, & cette tour gothique, 
Ayant l'air delabre sans avoir Fair antique ; 
Artifice a la fois impuissant &: grossier! 
Je crois voir cet enfant tristement grimacier^ 



142 NOTES TO CANTO II.- 

Qui, jouant la vieillesse & ridant son visage, 
Perd, sans paroitre vieux, les graces du jeune age* 

Les Jard. ch. 4. 

To this charming spot, where I escaped the rigour of 
the famous winter of 1769, I owe this mark of remem- 
brance and testimony of gratitude. 

£16] Soon pays the price of your victorious claim. 

M. de Paynes, procureur-general of the states of Pro- 
vena, augmented the revenue of his lands by 1200 livres> 
from the useful and bold process which I have endear 
voured to describe in these lines* 

[17] In Lima's valleys, where the orb of day, Spc. 

Hinc procul extremis Americas in finibus, orarrr 
iEquoream propter, medius Sol imminet urbi, 
Quam dixere Limamy Phcebo propiore calentes 
Temperat aura dies, quae frigida mane propinquo 
Spirat ab Oceano ; cum Vespere lassa quievit, 
Succedit variatque vices adversa, nivosos 
Quae montes gelidosque madens praeterfluit amnes* 

Perpetuo cives ibi Vere fruuntur, & annus 
Labitur usque sui similis > silet arbor, amico 



NOTES TO CANTO II. 143 

Fonte carens, flores eadem fructusque rigantis 
Agricolae parit arbitrio ; totumque per annum 
Nullus ab innubi licet aethere decidat imber, 
Non arent tamen arva siti \ sed hiantibus haustara 
Ut puteis lympham multo sudore per hortos 
Spargimus ; in rivos ita per sata pinguia ducunt 
Flumen, & arboreos vel aquarum copia fetus 
Quo placet agricolis maturat mense, vel anni 
Tempus ad extremum lymphae penuria difFert. 

Vainerii Prjedium RUSTIGUM, lib. 6. 

[18] Though Rome from error had obtain d the praise. 

It was long believed that the ancient aqueduct which 
Riquet caused to enter in the admirable construction of 
his canal, had been the work of the Romans 5 it was a 
monastic labour. Some, however, pretend that it was 
executed in the tenth century 3 that the draining of it 
was undertaken by several gentlemen of the neighbour- 
hood, who obtained their permission from the Archbishoo 
of Narbonne, to whom the marsh belonged. The author 
of the poem on Agriculture says that he has had in his 
hand the grant and other papers analogous to this act. 

However it be, the famous canal that joins the -Medi- 
terranean to the ocean was constructed by order of Louis 
XIV. in 1666, and was finished in 1680, Paul Riquet 



144 NOTES TO CANTO IU 

was the man of genius to whom France is indebted for 
this bold and useful work. 

[19] Ingenious 0? id well those means supplies. 

Inferior virtute meas devertor ad artes ; 
Elaborque viro, Ion gum formatus in anguem. 
'Qui postquam Hexes sinuavi corpus in orbes> 
Cum que fero movi linguam stridore bisuloam, 
Itisit, & illudens nostras Tirynthius artes : 
Cunarum labor est angues superare mearum, 
, Dixit : &:_, ut vkicas alios, Acheloe, dracones> 
Pars quota Lernaeae serpens eris unus Echidnas? 
Vulneribus fcecunda suis erat ilia ; nee ullum 
De centum numero caput est impune recisumj 
Quin gemino cervix herede valentior esset. 
Hanc ego ramosam natis e caede colubris, 
Crescentemque malo, domui; domitamque peremh 
Quid fore te credas, solum qui versus in anguem 
Arma aliena moves? quern forma precaria celat? 
Dixerat 5 & sum mo digitorum vincula collo 
Injicit. Angebar, cea guttura forcipe pressus : 
Pollicibusque meas pugnabam evellere fauces. 
Sic quoque devicto restabat tertia tauri 
Forma trucis ; tauro mutatus membra rebello. 
Induit ille toris a laeva parte lacertos ; 
Admissumque trahens sequitur ; deprensaque dura 



NOTES TO CANTO II. 145 



Cornua fig-it humo ; meque alta stemit arena. 
Nee satis id fuerat 3 rigidum fera dextera cornu 
Dum tenet, infregit ; truneaque a fronte revellit. 
Naides hoc, pomis & odoro fiore repletum, 
Sacrarunt; dives que meo bona Copia cornu est. 

Ovid. Meta. 1. 9. 

[20] One dreadful mom , the winds' tempestuous shock, fyc. 

The public papers have just given an account of a si- 
milar event having taken place at the Isle of Wight, a 
part of which has been detached, together with a house 
and the trees that were on the spot. 



NOTES 



CANTO III. 



Ti] HENCE buried deep tl 

An endeavour has here been made to express, in the 
most succinct terms possible, the different materis 
Nature employs to feedvc ires. 11 ne- 

vertheless, from the experiments of many celebrated phy- 
sicians, that woods and fossile •• /- are nor the ; 
substances proper to maintain subterraneous heat, Le- 
mery, Romberg, Newton, Hoffman, and Boerhaave, have 
obtained, by a mixture of sulphur, iron, v :-r, nearly 
the same effects as arise from the fires v it to 
volcanoes. These experiments, that produce on a small 
scale what Nature gives in a more extended degree, 
might at least make us suspect t 



143 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

&c. are not the sole matter which Nature uses in feeding 
the focus of volcanoes ; especially if we observe that the 
earth contains a considerable quantity of sulphureous and 
ferruginous pyrites, which only require the contact of 
water to set them on fire. 

If we consider that vitriolic acid, combining itself with 
•ron, produces considerable heat, and a quantity of inflam- 
mable air, which a thousand accidents may set on fire, it 
will be very evident that those fires produced without the 
interference of any vegetable substance may cause the 
most dreadful explosions, whether it be that they vaporize 
the water, or dilate the atmospherical air, which, accord- 
ing to Hales, is concentrated in vitriolic and sulphureous 
pyrites, in the proportion of i to 83. If we add to these 
reflections those of Spallanzani on the same subject, we 
shall have some doubt at least whether the focus of vol- 
canoes is nourished by fossile vegetables or not. 

[2] Plants among us that never sazc the day. 

The impressions which have been founds in our climates,, 
won the ehkt, which is the immediate covering of coal- 
beds, evidently belong to plants which are new unknown 
to us. There have been found, for example,, catamites, 
and the bark of palm-trees, in the most varied and curi- 
cus shapes. If we sometimes meet with impressions 
which resemble oiir ferns, it is bee re are, in this 



XOTES TO CANTO III. 149 

extremely numerous class, several exotics, which have 
escaped the researches of Plunder, Rumph, and Petiver* 
and which the practised eye of the botanist, after a long 
and well-followed comparison, can scarcely distinguish 
from the plants of our own country. In the Memoirs of 
the Academy for 1782, Daubenton cites some ckists, the 
impression upon which, seemed to him to have proceeded 
from plants growing in the country. Lemonnier, in his 
Observations on Natural History, believes that he disco- 
vered the osmvnda regalis on the ckkt of a coal-pit in 
Auvergne 3 but these observations are not convincing. 
In the coal-mines of the valley de Ville, the impressions 
of verticillate leaves are much more frequent than those 
of dorsiferous plants. It would be too bold, however, to, 
affirm that they are of the same species with the cailk- 
lait of our countries ; it is more probable that one of the 
, impressions, which came from Taninge in Faucigny, and 
which Mr. Tingry has described in the first volume of the 
Transactions of the Linnaean Society at London, is the 
aspleniven nodosum of South America ; and there exists so 
great a number of impressions which differ entirely from 
our plants, that we are obliged to carry them back to an 
epoch when the climate and productions of our country 
were different from what they are at present. The palm- 
tree barks, so beautiful and various, that are now especially 
found on the chist of Duttweiller, near Saarbrucken, fur- 
nish another fact in support of this assertion. In ordef 



150 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

to fix an opinion on this subject, it will be worth while to 
consult Morand's Dissertation on Coals, the Herbarium 
dihmajvum of Scheuchzer, the Silesia subterranea of Volk- 
mann, and the beautiful suite of impressions that Mylius 
has published in his work entitled Memorabilia Saxoniue 
mbtevranea. 

[3 ] And oft two laifrs, that oer each other rest, fyc. 

Jussleu, in his Memoirs of the Academy for 17 18, 
gives the following reason why in two layers of chist, both 
of them bearing the impression of the same plant, we do 
not find, in separating them, the stamp of the lower page 
of the .leaf on one, as well that of the upper page on the 
other. 

We will suppose (says he) these leaves floating upon 
the surface of a water, which in its agitations has been 
more charged with bituminous slime which it had washed 
away than with the salt with which it was naturally im- 
pregnated. This slime has covered the surface of these 
floating leaves, has been retained there by the quantity of 
fibres with which they are crossed, and united itself so in- 
timately with them as to receive even their smallest ves- 
tiges, and has acquired so much the more consistence as 
these leaves, from the quality of their close texture, have 
resisted corruption so much the longer. Nevertheless, as 
at length they fell into rottenness, and as the slime which 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 15i 

covered them could not fail of sinking, whether from the 
body which sustained it being withdrawn,- whether, from 
this cause, becoming more subject to the penetration of 
the water, it likewise becomes heavier, it happened that 
in reaching the bottom these layers of slime, falling on 
the smooth surface of the wet slime, stamped on it the fi- 
gure of the leaves, of which they kept the impression. 

The explanation of this mechanism accounts for the 
singular representation of one and the same leaf appearing 
in relievo on one layer, and in intaglio an the one opposed 
to it; in the same manner that a seal impressed in relievo 
upon one layer of earth, would appear in intaglio upon 
another soft layer, on which the former should be 
applied. 

We cannot say that the one is the reverse of the leaf, 
because the other is the upper page of it ; for the leaf 
having decayed, became incapable of stamping this re- 
verse. Its having fallen into rottenness is so certain, that 
its substance in changing has given these impressions in 
black, and whatever has kept itself attached to this layer 
has at the best given but an imperfect impression, 
because the superfluity filled it up, and is to this day 
found in dust between soma of thesa layers, when 
separated. 



152 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

[4] hi lengthen' d tale relates the dire event. 

These accidents are sufficiently frequent, though not 
very considerable, or happening in uninhabited places, are 
.either soon forgotten, or sometimes even unknown. Facts 
of this kind are found in ancient history ; Pausanias cites 
one on the subject of the city of Idea, at the foot of mount 
Sipylus. One of the most striking examples of this na- 
ture is the destruction of the magnificent burgh of Pleurs, 
rich from its territory, and the commerce and industry of 
its inhabitants, surrounded by beautiful country-houses, 
and situated at the foot of mount Conto. On the 6th of 
September, 17 18, after abundant showers of rain, in a 
calm night and a serene sky, the mountain suddenly 
opened, fell upon the burgh, and entirely overwhelmed 
it, while two thousand four hundred and thirty inhabi- 
tants, that composed its population, were either buried 
alive, or crushed to death by the ruins : not one escaped. 
The mountain enveloped in its fall the village of Schi- 
lano, consisting of about sixty or eighty houses, and co- 
vered a square league with its fragments. Their neigh- 
bours, the inhabitants of. Chiavenne, were surprised to see 
their river become dry, its waters having been intercepted 
by the wrecks of the mountain. The description of this 
fatal event is to be found in the natural history of Swit- 
zerland, by Scheuchzer, in two engravings; -the burgh >as 
it was is seen in one, and in the other the country as it 



NOTES TO CANTO III* 153 

exists since the event. In the description of this cata- 
strophe of Pleurs, as given by Robert, in his Travels 
through the Thirteen Cantons, &c. he adds the fall of the 
upper part of the mountain of Diableret, which happened 
in the Valais, in 17 14 : he likewise cites a similar event 
which had previously taken place in the Valais, in 1534, 
in which two villages were lost. 

[j] Each far led turn let observation s viexv, Sec. 

Nobody has written in a more enlightened manner on 
this subject than M. Rouenne, father-in-law to the cele- 
brated Darcet, professor of the college of France, one of 
the most famous chemists in Europe, and author of seve- 
ral excellent treatises on different objects of natural his- 
tory, and particularly on mountains. 

[6] One lifts the goblet ; xvka, xvith garland crown d, S^c, 

It is needless here to put our reader in mind of the dis- 
covery, lately made, of the cities of Pompaeia and Hercu- 
laneum, which were swallowed in the famous eruption of 
mount Vesuvius described by the Younger Pliny, 

[7] Glory to Ruff on I vho, to guide the sage, fyc* 

The Epochs of Nature are the most astonishing work 



154 KOTES TO CANTO III, 



that has appeared in the eighteenth century. None is 
comparable to it, either for the grandeur of its ideas,, the 
extent of its knowledge., or majesty of its style. No 
author has united so many facts in so short a space, or 
better shewn the dependence of particular phenomena on 
general laws. If he has not discovered the true manner 
upon which our planetary system was formed, we must at 
least allow that it is impossible better to combine all the 
facts, observations, and laws of Nature, by a supposition ; 
if indeed we may call that idea a supposition which seems 
to be but a consequence of facts, astonishing, it is true, 
but extorted by the force of analogies, and reclaimed by 
all the laws that maintain the wonderful order of the 
universe. 

In unrolling the annals of the world, BufFon was struck 
with the many and great monuments which they con- 
tained. The eloquence of the French Pliny can only be 
compared to that with which these monuments bear wit- 
ness to the changes which the globe has undergone 5 he 
entered into an examination of them, and, aided by a pro- 
found knowledge of the laws of nature, and the manner 
by which, in the lapse of time, they modify beings, he 
drew a conclusion from their present situation of the dif- 
ferent situations in which they had been ; he made use of 
them as so many steps to trace back past ages, and follow- 
ing them continually on the eternal road of time, he shews 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 155 

trs the different revolutions they have experienced in the 
different ages of the world. 

Although the earth is composed of an immense quan- 
tity of different substances, none has escaped his- vast and 
powerful genius 5 they appear one after the other, and 
seem to tell us the changes they have undergone from their 
origin to the present day. 

[8] Like potent kings, he sought his envoys' aid. 

Several naturalists have reproached Buffon with having 
travelled too little, and seen too little of himself. The 
prodigious number of memorials which he procured upon 
the different objects of his labour could not indemnify 
him for the knowledge he would have acquired on th«* 
spot, or for the impressions he would have derived from 
the objects themselves. This reproach, however, must 
not be carried too far 5 for if, to write a history of the 
world, it were necessary that we should see every thing 
ourselves, the attainments of past generations would be 
useless, and the researches and travels of the curious 
would be superfluous. Buffon consulted every naturalist, 
ancient or modern. If, like him, they were not all en- 
dued with that extent of genius which embraces the uni- 
verse at large, the greater number of them were at least 
capable of describing some part of it with exactitude, 
Each of them had brought some materials to the place,* 



156 NOTES TO CANTO III. 



in the same manner as wood, stones, and marble, design- 
ed for the construction of some grand edifice, are heaped 
up together. BufFon arrives ; takes them into his hands, 
and arranges each in its proper place ; and, becoming the 
architect of the world, tears oft the veil that concealed 
Nature, and shews her to mankind as she was and as she 
is. It is better to have raised an edifice, than to .have 
gone seeking at a distance some new material, which, if 
ever it should be discovered, will assuredly have a place 
in the temple he has reared. 

[9] Offspring of time, of sea, and air, and land, fyc. 

If we examine, with a small degree of attention, the 
different marbles, stones, chalks, &c. we shall see that 
they still contain, in the most evident manner, either 
shells themselves or fragments of them, and in so great 
quantity that we cannot doubt but that they form the 
basis of all calcareous substances. In reflecting on this 
subject we cannot help thinking, that the most powerful 
means which Nature employed for the formation of these 
substances was the filtration of these shelly animals> 
whose digestive faculties have the property of converting 
water into stone ; for all the shells formed by the secre- 
tion or exudation of these animals are really stones, that, 
having undergone a chemical analysis, give the same re- 
sult as those which are taken from quarries. The min4 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 157 

finds some difficulty in . familiarizing itself with these 
shelly animals, necessary for the formation of all calca- 
reous substance ; so, of all the phenomena which the 
history of the world presents, this appears to naturalists 
the most astonishing : they have found whole beds or 
heaps of shells in all parts of the earth ; some have been 
seen upon mountains, at five hundred toises* above the 
level of the sea, and in the most distant plains from 
the natural dwelling of these animals, at the depth of 
one hundred or two hundred feet. All the beds of cal- 
careous stones, marble, chalk, plaster, &c. seem to be 
composed of the fragments of these marine animals ; 
their number must be estimated by square leagues and 
provinces. Every thing, says BufFon, demonstrates to 
us, that the calcareous stone, produced by the inter- 
medium of water, is one of the most astonishing works 
of nature, and, at the same time, one of the most uni- 
versal 3 it is of a generation perhaps the most unlimited 
that she propagated in her primitive fecundity ', this ge- 
neration is that of shell-fish, madrepores, corals, and of 
all those species that filter a petriflc juice and produce 
calcareous matter, when no other agent, no other par- 
ticular power of nature, either has been or is able to form 
this substance. The multiplication of these shelly ani- 
mals is so prodigious, that when they lie in heaps to- 
gether, they raise, at this day, in numberless places, 
Ives, and shallows, which are the summit of sub- 



558 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

marine banks, the basis and bulk of which, are alike 
composed of the collection of their remains. All the 
low isles of the western tropic, says Mr. Forster, seem to 
have been produced by the sea-polypes. One of the low 
islands discovered by M. Bougainville, although half 
sunk, seems to Mr. Forster but one bank of coral, 
extending twenty leagues round : the sides of the Isle 
Sainoge, one of the Friendly Islands, are nothing but 
rocks produced by the polypes. 

Let us consider for a moment, says Bufrbn again, the 
number of species of these shelly animals, or, to include 
them ail, of those animals with the property of petrific ex- 
udatiun ; they are perhaps in greater number in the sea 
than are the different species of insects on land 3 then 
let us consider their quick growth, their prodigious mul- 
tiplication, and the short duration of their life, of 
which, nevertheless, we will suppose the average to 
be about ten years 3 in the next place, let us remember 
that we must multiply by fifty or sixty the almost un- 
limited number of all the individuals of this kind, in 
order to form some idea of all the petrified matter 
produced in ten years 3 and, in short, that this mass of 
petrified matter, already so considerable, must be aug- 
mented by as many of the same masses as there are 
tens in all the centuries which have past since the com- 
mencement of the world ; we shall then familiarise 
ourselves to this idea, or rather this truth, however 



VOTES TO CANTO I If. 15Q 



difficult to admit in the first instance, that all the banks 
or rocks of calcareous stones, marbles, chalks, &c. ori- 
ginally proceeded but from the relics of these animals. 

But how have these animals,, that cannot live and 
multiply but in the bosom of the waves, been able to 
form, by their relics, the greater part of those sub- 
stances which are discovered on the continent ? This in- 
controvertible fact can only be explained by adopting the 
opinion of those naturalists who think that these con- 
tinents were, in the first ages of the world, covered 
with water ; and that, during a long succession of cen- 
turies, these marine animals lived and multiplied there, 
as they live and multiply to this day in the seas. Per- 
haps too they were in greater abundance \ or probably 
their species were more numerous ; for amongst the re- 
mains of these animals there is a great number of them 
to which we can find nothing alive analogous. Doubtless, 
Nature, in her early years, propagated living substance 
with more energy, since even among these remains we 
disc ne gigantic species, which are no longer in 

existence, 

we examine, with attention, the manner in which 
the chains of our mountains are furrowed, we cannot 
help thinking that they owe their form and contour to 
the course of the waters 3 the salient angles, which cor- 
respond exactly with the retiring angles on the moun- 
tains, famish the probability of this. This probability 



160 NOTES TO CANTO III. 



becomes a certainty, when we consider that two moun- 
tains, separated by a valley, are of the same height ; 
and that they are composed of beds of substances, 
placed horizontally, one on the other, and of the same 
thickness ; and that in opposite mountains or hills, 
substances of the same nature are found at the same 
height 5 that is to say, that if on the right-hand 
mountain, at fifty toises extent, a bed of marble or 
slate is found, the same bed of marble or slate will 
be found in the left-hand mountain, at the same height, 
and in the same dimensions. If we remark that all the 
beds of earth, of sand, ©f calcareous stones, clay, mar- 
ble, gravel, plaster, &c. are either composed of the 
remains of shelly animals, or contain in them marine 
plants, or the fkeletons of sea-fish, &c.$ that these shells 
are found in marble and the hardest stones as well as in 
chalks, plaster, and earth ; that they are incorporated in 
these substances, and filled with the substances that sur- 
round them ; we shall scarcely have a doubt as to the 
wafers having existed on our continent, where they pro- 
duced the same effects as are still produced in the midst 
of the seas. Having been regularly raised and sunk, 
twice in every day, by the attractive power of the moon 
and sun, and agitated by the trade -winds, these waters 
formed themselves into currents, which furrowed the 
mountains in hollowing the valleys ; so that wherever 
we find a retiring angle, we shall likewise discover a 



NOTES TO CANTO III. l6l 



salient one, in the opposite mountain. At every move- 
ment of the flux and reflux, the waters, charged with 
different substances, which they had loosened and some- 
times carried to a great distance, at length deposited 
them in the form ef sediments. These multiplied sedi- 
ments formed themselves into beds, which, as the water 
is always tending to place itself on -a level, are hori- 
zontally or equally inclined, according to the dispo- 
sition of the basis that received them. These beds were 
a mixture of different marine substances, that the waters 
brought with other materials. The shell-fish, being the 
most abundant, prevail in the composition of these beds : 
they became filled with the surrounding matter, and pe- 
trified -in this matter, when, by some of those physical 
revolutions of which the history of the world speaks, 
the waters withdrew themselves, and left the continents 
naked. These substances then, by small degrees, dis- 
charged themselves of the water with which they were 
saturated j and in the process their volume was di- 
minished ; they then split themselves in two, and the 
rents of course were made in the direction of the force 
of gravity, that is to say, perpendicular to the horizon ; 
as we see, to this day, in the banks of stone, marble, &c> 
all of which are divided by perpendicular rents, that cross 
them in the full extent of their thickness. 



M 



l6 c 2 NOTES TO CANTO III. 



[10J Or with Linnaeus, plunging to Ms bed, Src 

Under the designation offucus and reeds we mean all 
those plants which grow under water, without the im- 
mediate contact of air ; or those that do not partake of 
the atmosphere, but by their summit, arid the roots of 
which are constantly submerged. They are known in the 
class of algue, under the name of xarec, goemons, and 
sargazo ; and of floating herbs, under the name of reeds % 
rushes, and bamboos, &c. 

The natural history of these plants is become sin- 
gularly interesting from the researches and discoveries of 
several celebrated naturalists, who have made us ac- 
quainted with the manner in which they grow and re- 
produce ; who have exactly described their various forms, 
and painted the different shades in their colours, as may 
be seen in the works of Linnaeus, Adanson, Klein, Do- 
nati, and in the treatises of Reaumur, read at the Aca- 
demy of Sciences in 171 1 and 1712. 

We know that these plants grow only in the low tracts 
of the sea, as upon the coasts, banks, and sub-marine 
mountains, which are never found in high seas : is it be- 
cause the rays of the sun cannot penetrate these depths ? 
However this be, it is a fa£t that this species of vegeta- 
tion establishes itself upon the coasts and in shallow seas> 
as in the Pacific, and the Atlantic 5 at Guiana, at the 



NOTES TO CAXTO III. l63 



Cape of Good Hope, in the Indian Archipelago, in the 
sea of Corea, &c. These plants are sometimes found in 
so great abundance, that they embarrass and even stop the 
course of vessels. The navigation of several rivers is im- 
practicable, on account of the forests of rushes and bam- 
boos that block them up. 

Man, who lays all nature under contribution in order 
to augment his enjoyments, has found the means of pro- 
fiting by all these vegetables. In some, which contain 
sucrous qualities, he has found an agreeable nourishment; 
others have been employed in the feeding of cattle ; some 
he has made use of to cover his houses, form partitions, 
&c. Those the fibres of which have been found strong, 
supple, and elastic, have been prepared, and spun into 
cordage. Medicine has discovered salutary properties in 
them, and many of its experiments have succeeded. 
Some of them, as the algce for example, resist corruption 
for a considerable length of time, and are therefore ad- 
vantageously employed in the composition of dykes : 
in burning the algce, they afford a plenteous quantity of 
salt, which is successfully made use of in accelerating the 
fusion of verifiable sand. From the burning of all these 
plants together a salt is obtained, which in commerce is 
known under the denomination of soda, and is generally 
used in the bleaching of linens. 

. This marine vegetation is favourable to the multi- 
plication offish, who deposit their fry in it. It nourishes 



164 NOTES TO CANTO III. 



a great number of insects, who become the food of these 
young inhabitants of the water ; the latter, in lurking 
amidst the windings of these sub- marine forests, escape 
the voracity of the tyrants of the sea. Perhaps too this 
aquatic vegetation purifies the liquid element in the same 
manner as terrestrial vegetation purifies the atmosphere. 
After having filled the several destinations in the ceco- 
nomy of nature, these vegetables detach themselves from 
the soil which saw them arise; they are then carried 
away by the waves, and, becoming useless to the inhabi- 
tants of the water, the ocean, by its constant oscillations, 
throws them on the coast in heaps together, whence man- 
kind derive the greatest advantage, in. employing them 
for manure. By a succession of the wonderful laws of 
nature, these plants are no sooner exposed to the in- 
fluence of air and heat, than they enter into a state of fer- 
mentation ; they quit their original composition, and 
become mold, which when spread on the fields fer- 
tilises them, in rendering their vegetation more active 
and vigorous. Thus does nature supply mankind with 
the means of renewing their land, after it has been ex- 
hausted by the frequent presents they have received from 
it 5 thus too it is, that the fecundity cf the earth never 
grows old, and that it promises an assured subsistence to 
subsequent generations. 

Naturalists suppose that the greater part of beds of 
peat, and even of coal, are nothing more than a col- 



XOTES TO CANTO III. 165 

leclion of these vegetables, grown rotten and heaped up 
together. The marine substances, as shells, and the im- 
pressions of fish, &:c. that are remarked in them, seem to 
justify these conjectures. We may observe that th^e 
Father of mankind, in the formation of the universe, 
foresaw that the vegetables of the continent would not be 
sufficient for the different wants of men, and that he has 
provided for them for thousands of ages these heaps of 
combustible matter, proper to keep up the active fire, so 
necessary to the life and happiness of his children. 

[n] Strange vcork of seas and insects in their breast. 

It is in our days only that naturalists have at length 
discovered the origin of these marine substances. Some 
careful observers of nature, as M. Marsigli for example, 
had ranged these stony substances, that form the habi- 
tation of the sea polypes, in the vegetable tribe, and 
amongst the number of sub-marine plants. But, after 
the observations of Peyssonel, Reaumur, and Jussieu, we 
have no doubt at present but that the coral, the coralline, 
the litophyte, and the sponge, &c. &"c. in short, the nu- 
merous species of sub-marine porous substances, are the 
cells of various kinds of worm-insects, that multiply to 
an incalculable abundance 5 so that each of these cells 
lodges an insect in the same manner that each of the cells 
ill a hive lodges a bee j and that the whole mass of the 



166 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

polype-nest is to the republics of these different insects 
what the hive is to the republic of bees, with this differ- 
ence, nevertheless, that the cell is not absolutely ne- 
cessary to the existence of the bee, while the worm-in- 
sects, that generate these substances, cannot live without 
their cell 5 it is as necessary to their existence, as the 
shell is to the life of an oyster. 

The various forms of these calcareous hives, the 
branches of which they are composed, which often, in 
the manner of plants, are fixed on the same trunk, had 
misled the naturalists, who took each arm of the polype 
for a stamen, its eggs for seeds, and the hive itself for a 
plant. These supposed plants are, nevertheless, without 
roots 5 they are fixed upon hard bodies by a glutinous 
and stony substance, and ferment with acids, like all 
other calcareous matters. The composition of these sup- 
posed plants discovers that they took their growth by 
juxta-position, and not by intus-susception, like vege- 
tables 5 and the living animals which they contain bear 
energetic testimony as to the error of the first obser- 
vations. 

We may account in another way for the manner of 
the different branches in which these hives have been 
able to shape themselves. Suppose that some of these 
numberless animals that transpire petrific matter, of 
the species that forms the coral for example, should 
establish their dwelling on the corner of a rock; they 



NOTES TO CANTO III. ]6T 

will first have raised a block of coral, necessary for their 
existence, which will have hardened itself in propor- 
tion to the time that these animals have taken to trans- 
pire the matter that composes it; they will then have mul- 
tiplied, and thus has their dwelling become insufficient 
for them ; the new generations will have been obliged 
to construct new habitations, and, taking for their basis 
the first block, raised by the founders of the colony, 
they will have spread out to the right and left, in every 
direction, accordingly as they shall have been more or 
less numerous , this is what may have produced those 
different branches that shoot from the same trunk : the 
original inhabitants will have been obliged to quit their 
first habitation, the capaciousness of which must have 
diminished every instant, from its being consolidated by 
the constant exudation of these animals, till at length 
it totally disappeared, as we may convince ourselves by 
breaking the parts of any hive of the polype that has been 
naturally abandoned. 

[12] Sometimes thine eye those monsters shall purfue, SfC, 

Those monstrous whales, and other marine prodigies, 
abound not only in the northern seas, where they are 
generally fished for, but in other seas as well, and the 
greater part of their species is yet but little known to us. 
Amongst these great marine species there is one, re- 



168 XOTES. TO CANTO III. 



pitted fabulous indeed by many writers, but whose ex- 
istence has, nevertheless, been rendered probable, by the 
different accounts of many modern authors, to whom we 
may pay credit ^ this is the famous kraken, whose di^ 
mensions may, nevertheless, have been increased by fear. 
The great sea-monster, called sepia octopedia, attains 
likewise a prodigious size. Why in seas that are little 
frequented may they not arrive to an extraordinary 
growth, in the same manner that in certain countries 
serpents grow to a gigantic bulk ? 

[13] Hail > -pompous Jura I #c* 

The Jura is one of the principal branches of the Alps, 
which takes its direction from de la Cluse, in the neigh- 
bourhood of the lake of Geneva, towards the north, and 
extends itself between France and Switzerland. It pro- 
duce* the chain of the Yosges y the latter, as they get 
lower, are lost in the Ardennes, which likewise cease in 
the plains of the Low-countries. Perhaps the mountains 
of the Black Forest are but a prolongation of Jura, 



[14] M&ataweerts dread ■ 



Between France and the beautiful country of Italy, I 
see united the two poles, and the image of Nature as she 
must haye been at her first emerging from chaos \ The 



XOTES TO CANTO III. l6Q 



high-browed mountains, bare, rent from top to bottom, 
fractured and creviced through their whole extent, and 
threatening the skies' with their hoary tops, seem to defy 
the fury of the united elements, and the destructive march 
of time ! At the foot of these mountains, what do I see 
next ? The image of an angry sea, that a sudden frost has 
seized ; a vast extent of solid ice, several hundred feet 
thick ! I follow with astonished eyes the waves, their bed, 
and the crevices, and perceive that these enormous col- 
lections of ice prolong themselves to a distance, and join 
to other masses that cover the summits. Thus are we 
transported into a second Zembla or Spitzberg, countries 
that are lost to mankind ! How does it happen that in a 
country so distant from the poles, and in a temperate cli- 
mate, we meet with the same phenomena £ 

Description of Montanvert, by Mr. Bourrit, 
in his New Description, general and particular, of the 
Glacieres, the Valleys of Ice and Glacieres that form 
the Chain of the Alps of Switzerland, Italy, 
and Savoy. Vol. 3. 

[15] Nor leaves the trace where once the city stood, 

These vales of snow, distinguished by the name of 
lavanges, or avalanches, are of three descriptions \ a mi- 
nute account of them will be found in Coxe's Letters oa 



170 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

Switzerland. It is well known that travellers, before 
they enter upon the valleys where these avalanches are 
dreaded, are in the habit of discharging fire-arms in 
order to determine those masses of snow which may have 
been stopped by some slight obstacle to loosen them- 
selves, and descend before the arrival of the traveller, 
who continues his journey in profound silence. 

[16] Oh, native France ! the scene of many a woe, fyc. 

This passage Was written in 1793. 

[17] Mark too the sap, that, ere its process ends, fyc. 

Does the movement of the sap in plants act in the 
same manner as that of the blood in animals ? Upon this 
head naturalists are not all agreed 3 they all however 
acknowledge the motion of the sap, and unanimously 
consider it as the means employed by nature for the 
maintenance of vegetable life 5 they all say that the sap 
rises from the root to the farthest extremity of the 
branches, and descends again to the extremity of the 
root 1 but they by no means agree in considering this 
movement as a real circulation, like that of the blood, 
which, going from the heart, is driven to the very ex- 
tremity of the members, and thence carried back through 
other channels to the heart. Philosophers wait till some 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 171 

new experiments may assist them in their decision : they 
have learnt, by the discoveries made in the vegetable 
ceconomy, that plants receive the greater part of their 
nourishment from the leaves and branches, and the rest 
from the roots ; they know that the sap which descends 
is more abundant than that which rises, and that it has 
besides different properties j but they do not yet see, in 
the structure of plants, any organs capable of driving the 
sap from one extremity to the other, as anatomy shews 
them in regard to the circulation of blood in animals. 
They have been able to distinguish the vessels which 
cany the sap from the roots to the leaves, from those that 
conduct it from the leaves to the roots j they have dis- 
covered those by the means of which air exercises its in- 
fluence on vegetation -, and have succeeded in estimating 
the effects of heat on the vegetable ceconomy 5 but they 
have not yet discovered in plants the organs that ope- 
rate the wonderful phenomenon of the circulation of the 
blood : it is for this reason that they dare not yet style the 
movement of the sap a circulation 5 they have been con- 
tented to call it a fluctuation, a kind of oscillatory mo- 
tion, mounting and descending, and hitherto considered 
as inexplicable. 

But, if we have not yet been able to penetrate this 
mystery, we have been compensated for it by the sur- 
prising discoveries already made. What is there more 
admirable than the structure or organization of plants ! 



172 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

What astonishing mechanism ! We discover in them dif- 
ferent vessels or moulds, of which nature makes use in 
preparing the sap, and rendering it capable of forming 
the various parts of which they are composed. By these 
moulds are formed the bark, the wood, the thorns, the 
hair or down, the marrow, the cotton, the flowers, and 
the seeds. The most active and curious mind will always 
find wherewithal to satisfy itself in the study of vege- 
tables. If it will not be able to discover all the mecha- 
nism of the circulation of the sap, in diving into the la- 
boratory of nature, it may know in what manner the 
operation of this juice is put in force ; it will discover 
the use and effects of different vessels ; it will see how 
Nature employs the roots, the ligaments, the fibres, the 
wood, the leaves, and the' flowers. If it follow her 
through the process of reproduction, it will study the 
seeds, and search into the use that she makes of the pulp 
or lobes, of the plantula, the seminal leaves, knots, buds, 
shoots, &c. Let it acid to all this information some 
botanico-metereological observations, and it will be able 
to second Nature in the reproduction and maintenance of 
vegetables, and thus render the most important services 
to agriculture., and consequently to humanity. 



NOTES TO CAXTO III. 173 

{ 1 8] Their powers mysterious let thy knowledge sift. 

In the eyes of those men who have not been occupied 
by the means which Nature employs for the reproduc- 
tion of beings, and to cover the surface of the earth with 
that prodigious quantity of vegetables that forms the basis 
of living nature, the different kinds of mosses, from their 
size and form, have been looked upon as despicable plants, 
that, amongst vegetables, are to the cedar and oak what 
the vine-fretter is to the elephant in the animal reign. 
Always disdained by the vulgar, it was not till the pre- 
sent day that they particularly fixed the attention of phi- 
losophers. If, however, we follow the course of nature, 
it will be seen that mosses have borne and still bear an 
important part in vegetable ceconomy 5 and that probably 
it is by their means that the surface of the earth is cover- 
ed with verdure. This species of vegetation establishes it- 
self on the hardest and smoothest rocks ; attaches itself 
to the most polished marble, and, if neglected,, dis- 
figures it : it is seen too on the tiles and slates of ancient 
houses. The seeds of moss* in order to shoot and sprout, 
need only touch the imperceptible bed of oily particles, &c. 
which, being volatilized, float in the atmosphere, and are 
deposited upon all bodies penetrated by air. The de- 
struction of these vegetables, in the first place, forms -a 
bed of mold, that contains a number of embryos, capable 
of giving speedy birth to a more abundant moss 5 and, 



174 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

by a succession of time and destruction, the rock is, by- 
small degrees, covered with a greater quantity of earth, 
where herbs may first grow 5 then, higher plants 5 next, 
brambles and shrubs 5 and, at length, trees. By this 
means the rocks are covered with verdure, and the earth 
is adorned with all the pride of its riches. We see that 
in physic, as well as moral, the great owes its existence 
to the destruction of the little. These plants, however 
despised, have nevertheless their properties : medicine 
has successfully employed part of them in the relief of 
our sufferings ; the dyer's art has used several species of 
them in shading colours 5 some of them are purgative, 
sudorific, or vermifuge ; in India they look upon the 
lycopodium as an excellent aphrodisiac, and this plant is 
celebrated in every festival where love presides. 

[19] Their useful poisons, and their healing gift. 

The experienced physician is scarcely acquainted with a 
poison that is absolutely such. Employed with prudence 
and on proper occasions, those plants which are reputed 
the most venomous have become remedies ; as the hem- 
lock, the wolf's-bane, &c. 

[20] And to each plant its borrow' d fragment gives, fyc. 

These lines bear allusion to a fa6l which happened to 
the celebrated Jussieu, who,, when his scholars vainly tried 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 175 



to deceive him, perceived, at the first glance, in the fac- 
titious assemblage of the fragments of many plants, the 
different parts of which it was composed, 

[21] The cherry rich, the strawberry of the wood, tyc. 

It is known that the wood- strawberry is called by bo- 
tanists solatiolum herborisantium. 

[22] Their taste no aid from Miofs art shall ash. 

The celebrated restaurateur Meot is well known at 
Paris. The author is far from pretending to give the 
same celebrity to his name that Boileau has given to Ber- 
gerat, as well known in his time as Meot in ours : 
" Et mieux que Bergerat l'appetit assaisonne." 

Every body recollects this line from one of Boileau's 
Epistles. 

[33] Each conquer' d plant triumphantly receives. 

It is only for the man animated with a lively desire to 
know the vegetable world, for the passionate botanist, to 
appreciate all the pleasure that is experienced on a re- 
turn from herborisation, to number and contemplate the 
plants which are brought back, and which are considered 
as a real conquest over the immense domain of Nature, 



If6 notes to Canto hi. 

It seems that they are so many friends, whom we admit 
to the rights of hospitality ; we familiarise ourselves to 
them as to the relatives of a numerous family with 
which we wish to form an acquaintance ; we study their 
features, their physiognomy, and their characters, in 
order to form a judgment, from the individual, upon the 
whole species. We are less in dread of bad weather, or 
the wintry season, which, in putting a stop to vegeta* 
tion, prevent us from going to study it ; for we arrange 
and preserve at home the subjects which we desire to 
know ; and, in order that their features may change as 
little as possible, they are first dried between two sheets 
of whitish brown paper, and to a degree of heat, always 
proportioned to the watry or oily particles with which 
they are charged. This done, they are again reviewed, 
in order to be placed upon sheets of white paper, and in 
the rank which the botanic system we have adopted 
exacts : sometimes we are content to fix them in the her- 
bal with pins, in order to observe them, in every sense, 
with the greater facility 5 or else we fasten them with 
gum ; but always in the elegant attitude of nature. If 
we are mistrustful of our memory, we should take care 
to write the name of each plant by its side, as well as all 
the properties we discovered in its flourishing days, when 
we first made acquaintance with it. By the help of a \ 
stove, these plants are prevented from mustiness, and the 
small insects are kept at a distance by coloquintida-dutt. 



NOTES TO CANTO III, 177 

Often, however, the botanist preserves only the image of 
plants, either by drawing, painting, or simply by im- 
pression 5 he smears them with gum or oil, according to 
their nature ; he strews over them some dust, to colour 
them, and disposes them on white paper, in the attitude 
he judges most convenient 5 he places them, at length, 
under the press, and the stamp remains on the paper. 

£24] Where changing instinct , through each living link, Src m 

It is from our manner of seeing and considering Nature, 
that we suppose her to contain three distinct reigns ; but, 
in studying her, we do not find this line of demarcation ; 
for, in following the chain of beings, we arrive from the 
animal to the vegetable without meeting any thing which 
marks this separation, which is not found in nature, and 
which has only been imagined to facilitate the study of 
her. Nobody makes us feel this truth more strongly than 
BufFon. The word animal, says he, in the sense we ordi- 
narily receive it, represents a general idea, formed upon 
particular ideas, which we have conceived of some par- 
ticular animals. The general idea which we have formed 
of the animal shall, if you will, be chiefly taken from the 
particular idea of the dog, the horse, or other beasts,, 
which appear to be possessed of intelligence and will, and 
which seem to move and determine according to this will ; 
that are composed of flesh and blood/ that seek and take 



178 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

their nourishment, and that have senses, sexes, and the 
faculty of re-producing. We join, therefore, a great 
quantity of particular ideas, when we form to ourselves 
the general idea which we express by the word animal ; 
and we should observe that, in the great number of these 
particular ideas, there is not one that constitutes the es- 
sence of the general idea ; for there are, as all the world 
admits, animals that appear to have neither will, intelli- 
gence, nor progressive movement; there are some that 
have neither flesh nor blood, and that seem to be nothing 
but a clear congealed substance } there are some that 
cannot seek their nourishment, and that receive it only 
from the element they inhabit 5 in short, there are some 
that have no sense, not even that of touching, at least to 
any degree that can appear sensible to us. There are 
some that have no appearance of sex, while others have 
both of them ; and generally there remains to the animal 
nothing but what he has in common with the vegetable,, 
that is, the faculty of re-producing. It is then from the 
tout ensemble that the general idea is formed 5 and this en- 
semble being composed of different parts, there are of 
course degrees and shades in these parts. In this sense an 
insect is something less of an animal than a dog 5 an 
oyster still less of an animal than an insect ) the gall- in- 
sect, the sea-nettle, and the polype, still less than an 
oyster 5 and, as nature goes by imperceptible shades, wc 
ought to find animals that are still less so than the sea- 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 179 

nettle and the polype. In vain, then, by the words animal 
and vegetable do we pretend to draw lines of separation 
between organised and brute bodies. These lines of sepa- 
ration exist not in nature : there are beings that are 
neither animal, vegetable, nor mineral, and that we 
should try to no purpose to bring near to each other ) such 
is the fresh water polype, which we may consider as the 
last animal and the first of plants. For this reason, what 
were the doubts and uncertainty of M. Trembley, in en- 
deavouring to find whether this polype was an animal or 
vegetable ? There exist, then, in nature a quantity of or- 
ganised beings that are neither one nor the other ; such 
are those moving bodies which are found in seminal 
fluids (these are organic particles), in the infused flesh of 
animals, and in the seeds and other infused parts of 
plants. 

These are organised bodies, intermediate beings, that, 
without being animals or vegetables, may very well enter 
into the constitution of one and the other. 

In the crowd of objects which this vast globe presents, 
in the infinite number of the different productions with 
which its surface is covered and peopled, the animals hold 
the first rank, as well by the conformity they have with 
ourselves^ as by the superiority which we know them to 
possess over vegetable and inanimate being. Animals have 
by their senses, their form, and movement, a greater af- 
finity to the objects that surround them than vegetables 5 



180 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

and vegetables, by their developement, their shape, their 
accrescence, their manifest circulation,, and their different 
parts, have a greater affinity to exterior objects, than have 
minerals and stones, which have no sort of life, no orga- 
nisation. It is by this affinity, founded on numerous rea- 
sons, that the animal is above the vegetable, and the ve- 
getable above the mineral. We may say then, although 
every work of the creator may be equally perfect, that the 
animal, according to our mode of perception, is the most 
complete, and that man is the master-piece. Diet, Nat. 
Hist, by Valmont-Bomare, art. Animal. 

[25] The clay, whose substance when the flames Jlxall try, c^c. 

The clay here in question is a very white earth, which 
is mingled, in proportions admitted by experience, with 
quartz and feld spath, ground together in a mill, which 
are the principal materials that enter into the composition 
of the fine porcelains at Sevre. Nature has herself taken 
care to mix all these materials ; and these mixtures are 
found in several places; but in no place are these mate- 
rials so naturally united, and in a proportion so favourable 
to the composition of porcelain, as in China, where they 
are known under the name of Koalin. It is in analysing 
this substance, that art has succeeded in procuring for 
France, what Nature lavishes on the fortunate Chinese ; 
thus, in studying Nature, we gain from her what she ap- 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 181 

peared willing to deny us 3 and, if every thing has not 
been made for man, at least he knows by his art how to 
reap benefit from every thing. 

[26] The hardening wood, its native form that leaves, fyr. 

Petrefactions are organised bodies, which, coming from 
the bosom of the sea, or the surface of earth, have been 
buried by different accidents at different depths, and are 
now found under their primitive form and contexture, 
though changed in their nature ; whatever was wood or 
bone is become stone, by an operation of nature, for which 
we may reasonably account* Every petrefaction, strictly 
so, is no more than the skeleton or image of some body 
which has lived or vegetated ; thus, petrified wood is no 
longer wood itself. We know that, commonly speaking, 
wood is a body, in which the volume of pores exceeds by 
far the volume of solid parts. When it has been deposited 
and buried in certain places, lapidirlc juices, which the waters 
bring along with them, are introduced into its pores ; and 
these juices extremely divided, and sometimes coloured, 
fill up its capacities. These juices in time condense and 
mould themselves. At length the liny and solid parts of 
the wood enter into fermentation, lose their properties, 
and are driven from their place by the filtering of the 
water \ and, by this means, they leave the space, which 
they occupied, empty, in the shape of pores. In the mo- 



182 NOTES TO CANTO III. 



ment of this metamorphosis of wood into stone, no differ- 
ence is perceptible either in its volume or form ; but there 
is a change of substance as well in the surface as inter- 
nally : whatever was porous in the natural wood, is be- 
come solid in the petrified wood j and whatever was full 
in the first state, is become empty or porous in the second : 
the lapidific juices continuing to circulate and fix them* 
selves in these new pores, the latter are filled in the same 
manner as the former y this second operation done, there 
remains nothing of the substance of the wood 5 every thing 
is changed into stone, and this stone has the same form, 
contexture, with the primitive wood, because it served for 
a mould to the petrific matter 5 and because, in this ope- 
ration, Nature imitated and copied herself. 

There are then, says Mongez, four very distinct epochs 
in the process, which nature follows, in converting wood 
into stone,, or, expressing himself more justly, in substitut- 
ing for it a stony deposit. 1st. The vegetable wood per- 
fect, composed of solid and empty parts of fibres and ves- 
sels : 2. The wood having its vessels filled by a stony 
deposit, and its solid parts remaining in the same state : 
3. The solid parts attacked and decomposed, forming new 
cavities between the strong cylinders, which remain in the 
same state and support the whole mass : 4. And last, 
these new cavities filled with new deposits, forming sub- 
stance with the cylinders, and composing but one mass 
totally of stone, and representing exactly the piece of wood. 



XOTES TO CANTO III. 185 

» 

Nature follows the same process in operating all other pe- 
trefactions. 

[27] The creeping lichen, that for friendly aid, See. 

The lichen is a kind of moss that bears analogy to the 
focus. In dyeing, and even in medicine, several sorts of 
the lichen are useful j and in the northern climates the 
wild animals feed upon them during the winter. Vide 
note 19 of this Canto. 

The agaric is the same fungus, which, after being beat 
and impregnated with salt-petre, constitutes the amadou, 
which, prepared after the method of Erossard, serves to 
stop hemorrhages. 

There are two sorts o( the nenuphar ; one with yellow 
flowers,, and the other, much more beautiful, with white 5 
the colour, however, does not form their principal differ- 
ence. We make use of the roots of each, but of the 
flowers of the latter only. They are considered as possess* 
ing the quality of extinguishing the fires of love. 

{2S] Those plants and boughs, that swarming life contain, &c. 

We speak here of the sea and fresh water polype. 
What has been said ot the first may be seen in the twelfth 
note of the third Canto. The discoveries made on the 
nature of the second, have singularly deranged the ideat 



184 NOTES TO CANTO III. 



which had been formed of the animal kingdom. Who 
would, in effect, believe that there are animals in exist- 
ence which may be multiplied by cutting them in pieces ; 
> that in dividing a fresh-water polype into ten, twenty, or 
thirty portions, each of these portions would, in a short 
time, become a polype, similar to the one of which it 
before constituted a part ; and that the head and arms with 
which the animal seizes his prey, would sprout from each 
of these divisions ? Let a polype be cut length-wise into 
as many slips as can be well managed, and the same num- 
ber of polypes will result from them ; let the head be cut 
in two, and each of these half-heads will become a com- 
plete one 5 let the same operation be repeated on these two 
heads, and four will be obtained 5 let these four be treated 
in the same manner, and eight heads will be seen upon 
one body : again, should a similar operation be performed 
on th# body, there will be eight bodies, nourished and con- 
ducted by one head. The fabled hydra went not so far. 
Still further, turn a polype, which is nothing more than a 
hollow and transparent worm, inside out, like a silk stock- 
ing, and it will digest and live as before. 

Nothing resembles vegetation so much as the natural 
manner in which polypes reproduce themselves. A slight 
excrescence, in the form of a button, is remarked upon the 
body j it is the head of a polype, out of which its arms 
likewise arise. On the same subject as many as eighteen 
polypes have been numbered* The young polypes ^ even 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 185 



before they have attained their full growth, give exist- 
ence to others that spring from their body in the same 
way. A father is often a grand-father before he has 
brought his first-born into the world. This kind of living 
tree presents a very curious spectacle to the observer £ 
when one polype seizes upon his prey and swallows it, the 
nourishment distributes itself to all the other polypes, 
which are like so many branches, and in the same manner 
he is himself nourished by whatever the others receive: 
thus, then, whatever the father eats is beneficial to the 
children, and whatever either of the children eats is in 
like manner beneficial to the whole family : the change of 
colour, which takes place in all the polypes, according to 
the colour of the aliment, is an incontrovertible evidence 
to this fact. 

Such an assemblage of polypes is, in some sort, a tree, 
that eats, walks, vegetates, and sends forth branches. It 
would seem that Nature has been pleased to unite on one 
subject alone, what hitherto had been looked upon as a 
distinct character between plants and animals 5 for this 
reason, naturalists consider the polype as forming the shade 
from the vegetable to the animal world. 

[29] The beast xchose sides a shelly crust defends, fyc. 

This is the rhinoceros, whose skin is excessively hard, 
and thicker than the hide of any known animal. 



186 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 



{30] Or o'er whose back, in vaulted form, it bends, fyc* 

This is the tortoise, 

£31] Thejish whose small gondola stems the tide, fyc. 

The nautilus is a kind of univalvous shell-fish made 
like a gondola, with an elevated poop. The name of nau- 
tilus has been given to it, because it is from this animal 
that mankind pretend to have learnt the art of navigation. 
The form of the shell certainly resembles that of a vessel, 
and the animal seems to conduct it upon the sea as a pilot 
would his bark. When the nautilus, which is nothing 
more than a polype with several arms, wishes to float, he 
elevates two of his arms, and extends the slight membrane 
between them in the form of a sail ; he then plunges two 
other of his arms into the sea, like oars, whilst another 
arm supplies the place of a rudder. He takes no more 
water into the shell than what is sufficient to ballast his 
little bsrk, and to enable him to proceed with safety as 
well as speed $ but on the approach of an enemy, or in a 
tempest, he furls his sail, draws in his oars, and fills his 
shell with water, in order to sink or precipitate himself 
more easily to the bottom of the sea. He turns his bark 
topsy-turvy when he wishes to emerge from the bottom, 
and by the help of certain parts, which he can swell or 
compress at pleasure, he is enabled to make his way 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 187 

through the mass of waters ) but as soon as he gains the 
surface, he turns his vessel, out of which he empties the 
water, and stretching forth his oars, sails on and abandons 
himself to the directions of the wind : he is a navigator, 
that is at once the ship and the pilot. 

[32] Thofe birds with oars, #c 

These are the aquatic birds that Forster Las named ap- 
tenodytes, of which ten species are known at present. 
These birds are excellent divers, row under water by 
means of their wings, which are extremely short, and 
furnished with feathers, small, stiff, and scaly as it were. 
These wings are very improperly called fins by those who 
pay more attention to their use than their construction. 

CJ3] Andjibh with wings supply d. 



We are at present acquainted with se r eral species of 
flying-fish, that is to say, that spring suddenly from the 
sea, and sustain themselves and advance in the air as long 
as their greater fins keep moist, or till the albatrosses, or 
other marine birds, compel them to take refuge again in 
the water, where they meet with new enemies in the do- 
rado, bonetto, and other voracious fish. There are eight 
species of these fish, known under the name of the trigkj 
of which the pirapede is the first. 



188 NOTES TO CANTO III* 



[34] The doubtful citizens of earth or tide. 

The sea calf, lion, and bear, are, properly speaking, 
almost the only animals to which we can apply the term 
amphibious, in the full acceptation of the term ) they seem 
to be the only ones that can live equally in air and water, 
because they are the only animals in whom the hole of the 
valve of the heart is constantly open ; consequently they 
are the only animals that can do without respiring, and 
live equally in one or the other element. In man, and ter* 
restrial animals, the hole of the valve of the heart (which, 
in leaving the passage from the vena cava to the aorta 
open, suffers the foetus to live without breathing) is shut 
at the moment of the brrth, and remains so till death -, in 
those animals that are really amphibious, it is the reverse : 
the hole of the valve of the heart remains continually 
open ; the communication of the blood from the vena 
cava to the aorta still exists, so that these animals have 
the advantage of respiring when they please, and dis- 
pensing with It when they please. They are, in the sys- 
tem of living nature, the passage and shade from quad* 
rupeds to cetaceous animals y still belonging to the earth, 
as well as inhabitants of the water, they form the passage 
of animal life from one to the other element- 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 189 

\.35~\ Deep in the budding leaf have fix d their home. 

Nature, who watches over the reproduction of beings, 
has given to a great number of insects the instinct of de- 
positing their eggs in those substances that are proper to 
nourish their infants as soon as they are born. It is ob- 
served that the flies known under the name of cy?iips 
are armed under the belly with a needle, the wonderful 
operation of which is executed by a kind of secret spring 
concealed in the interior of the animal ; the cynips em- 
ploys it to pierce into the epiderma of leaves, or to pene- 
trate into the body of caterpillars, in order to deposit her 
eggs. This deposit, made in the opening of the leaf^. 
eauses an extravasation of vegetable juices, from whence 
those false apples, galls, and other excrescences of differ- 
ent forms, arise, in which the new-born worm finds 
nourishment and lodging : he is there rolled up in the 
shape of a bowl, in his narrow and obscure though com- 
modious apartment, sheltered from the inclemency of the 
weather and from all kind of danger* When he arrives 
at his last growth he is changed into an aurelia, makes an 
opening for himself, spreads his wings, soars aloft, and 
becomes the inhabitant of another element. 

[36] Whose living folds the human bofomflh 

The tenia or tape-worms, that are so varied in different 



190 NOTES TO CANTO III. 



animals,, and of which mankind nourish more than one 
species, are known in great numbers. The title of solitary 
is very improper, for with that which had been supposed 
to exist alone in the intestines of man, several others have 
been found. 

[57] The fly that builds, $c. 

There are several sorts of flies that build \ nothing is 
more curious than their architecture, or more interesting 
than the materials they employ. The arts, perhaps, might 
derive some profit from the instinct of these industrious 
animals ; the mason-fly constructs several cells with 
grains of sands, which she knows how to cement into a 
mortar, that in a short time acquires the hardness of the 
most solid stones. Is this the famous mortar of the an- 
cient Romans, that we have not hitherto been able to 
imitate? Several insects build with a substance which. is 
real paper, or paste-board, &c. 

[38] — Or spins thejine-drawn thread* 

Many naturalists comprise in the denomination of flies 
those called the dragon-flies, the larva of which spin in order 
to compose a tapestry for the lodging where they undergo 
their metamorphosis. The larva of the formica ho, the 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 191 

history of which is so curious and interesting, becomes a 
dragon-fly. 

[j9] Those in whose golden web their tomb is wove* 

This is the silk-worm, 

[40} Those that in secret light the torch of love* 

No insect keeps his amours so concealed as the bee 5 
it is the same too with, the thermes of the torrid zone. 
As to the rest, there are many insects that generally co- 
pulate in private, such are the beetle, moth, &c. 

[4 1 } The fly whose life throughout the torch of love. 

Many insects live from the moment they are first born 
to the same epoch in the following year, passing the 
winter in the shape of nymphs. Others live in the state 
of larvae for several years. There are some that see 
several generations in the course of one summer. Those 
insects that terminate their career in the space of a day, 
or even some hours, are the ephemeral flies, commonly 
styled St. Lawrtnce's flies* 



192 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

[42] That shield the texture of your fine-wrought wing. 

Nature seems willing to recompense insects for then 
weakness, in decking their robe with the most vivic 
colours. On their wings, and the ornaments of theii 
head, is to be seen azure, gold, silver, green, red, yellow^ 
&c. fringes, crests, and tufts, are lavished upon them $ 
and the reflection of these varied colours is at least as 
lively as that of precious stones. We have only to 
examine a butterfly, or even a caterpillar, and we shall 
be astonished at the magnificence and variety of their 
livery. Is it then in the course of nature that finery 
should be the appendage of weakness ? 

{43] Your well-form' d eyes by skilful Nature placd. 

Of all the parts of insects, the eyes a rescaux are the 
most adapted to shew us with what prodigious care 
Nature has formed them ; and to inform us in general 
what miracles she has produced that escape our attention. 
The greatest microscopic observers have not failed to 
study the singular construction of these eyes. Those of 
flies, beetles, butterflies, and many other insects, differ 
in nothing essentially. They are all nearly portions of 
spheres 5 and their external covering may be considered as 
the cornea. What is called the cornea, is the external 
covering of every eye, that part which, when the eyelids 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 193 

remain open, the finger would touch, if we wished to 
touch an eye. That of the insects of which we are 
speaking, has a sort of lustre, which gives us often as 
many colours and as varied as in the rainbow. It ap- 
pears, at first sight, as smooth as glass ; but when seen 
through the microscope, it seems cut into facets, like 
diamonds ; and these facets are disposed in wonderful re- 
gularity, and in a prodigious number. Leuwenhoeck 
has calculated that there are three thousand one hundred 
and eighty-one upon one cornea only of a beetle, and eight 
thousand upon each cornea of a common fly. Hoock has 
discovered fourteen thousand in the two eyes of a drone 5 
and Leuwenhoeck has counted six thousand two hundred 
and twenty-six in the two eyes of a winged silkworm. 
What is more wonderful, all these facets are apparently 
so many eyes ; so that instead of two eyes or crystallines^ 
which some naturalists scarcely allow to butterflies, we. 
ought to allow them, on the two corneas, thirty-four 
thousand six hundred and fifty 3 to common flies sixteen 
thousand ; and to others more or less, but still in a pro- 
portion equally surprising. 

According to the following experiments of two skilful, 
observers, it is incontestibiy proved that each facet is cry- 
stalline, and that each crystalline is accompanied with 
what forms a complete eye. They first detached the 
cornea of several insects > they then dexterously drew 
from it all the matter it contained, and after having well 

o 



194 NOTES TO CANTO III. 

cleaned the interior surface, fixed it in the place of the 
lens of a microscope. The cornea thus adjusted, and 
pointed opposite to a candle, produced one of the richest 
illuminations possible. M. Puget formed the idea of 
placing a butterfly's eye, thus prepared, in the focus of a 
microscope 5 a soldier seen through this microscope, of a 
particular construction, would have appeared like an army 
of seventeen thousand three hundred and twenty-five 
men 3 a bridge would have appeared an infinite number 
of arches. Leuwenhoeck carried the dissection so far as 
to discover that each crystalline had its optic nerve. It 
will be said, how can one insect, with thousands of eyes, 
see single objects? When we> shall know for a certainty 
how we ourselves with two eyes can see simple objects, 
it will be easy to conceive how objects can appear simple 
to insects with thousands of eyes. Nature, who designed 
that their eyes should not be moveable, has made up for 
this deficiency by their number and position. Besides 
this gre.it number of eyes, of which these orbits are com- 
posed, the greater part of flies have three others placed in 
a triangle on the head, between the skull and the neck : 
these three eyes, which are likewise crystallines, are not 
in facets 5 they are smooth, and seem like points. These 
different sizes of eyes in the same insect, joined to the 
consideration of the different places allotted to each eye, 
lead us to presume, with some degree of probability, that 
Nature has accorded to insects eyes adapted to see objects 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 195 

that are near, and others to see distant objects j that she 
has, if we may so express ourselves, furnished them with 
microscopes and telescopes. We should observe that the 
generality of these eyes in facets are covered with hair, 
which, it may be suspected, produce the same effect with 
our eyelids, that is to say, keep away the too great quan- 
tity of sunbeams, which would only serve to embarrass the 
view. 

[44] Arms for your combat, or the tools of art. 

Insects are armed cap- a-pee; they attack and defend 
themselves : they have saw-teeth, darts, needles, pincers, 
cuirasses, wings, "horns, a prodigious number of springs 
in their feet- and cordages or nets 3 in short, nothing is 
wanting to the construction of these organs necessary for 
an offensive and defensive war. Nature has spared no- 
thing to endow them with agility ; she has lavished upon 
them every instrument necessary for their preservation ; 
and there is not one among them that does not avail 
himself of his organs with an address that surprises even 
the philosopher. — See note 46. 

[45] Your drums, your clarions nearer kt me know. 

Nature has given to several insects, as to grasshoppers, 
gnats, drones, crickets, and to several kinds of beetles, the 



19& NOTES TO CANTO III. 

faculty of forming certain sounds. But in spite of all the 
researches that have been made, we have never yet oeen 
able to discover any organs of hearing. The use of all 
the organs belonging to insects is not yet known ; perhaps 
amongst those of which we know not the destination 
there are some that perform the functions of the ear. 
There are doubtlessly modulations and changes in -the 
note of these animals that we do not seize ; for it is not 
in the order of things that the note of combat, victory, 
grief, and pleasure, should be on the same key. Why 
may not these insects, like other animals, have the means 
of expressing their passions ? 

[46] Each secret spring, each organ let me trace. 

It would seem that each insect is destined to some par* 
ticular profession, for which it has the proper utensils > 
there are, if we may so express ourselves, of every art and 
every trade ; their principal labours are always master- 
pieces, and their industry appears as varied as the diver- 
sity of those instruments appropriated to the labour 
which belongs to them. We see architects among them 
that form the plan of an edifice, able to contain many 
hundred inhabitants ; the apartments are so well distri- 
buted, that there is not a corner lost -, each individual is 
separately lodged in a space sufficient for his ease. Others, 
more solitary, construct separate cells, where neatness 



NOTES TO CANTO III. 197 

and convenience are blended. Some of them are skilful 
in spinning, and are provided with distaffs ; others make 
linen and nets, and have for that purpose a shuttle and 
balls of thread. Others are known to form wooden 
buildings, and are supplied with bills for cutting down 
wood, and saws to divide it into smaller pieces ; they 
have trowels and every instrument necessary to furnish or 
cover them. Those that are employed upon wax have 
spoons and small rakes. Several of them, besides having 
a tongue for tasting and licking, have a tube which per* 
forms the office of a pipe, or the head furnished with a 
pair of pincers, and have beside a moving augre in the 
tail, which is adapted for boring, digging, &c. The 
movements of these little animals are neither capricious 
nor fortuitous ; they are replete with order and design, 
and tend, all of them, to the purpose for which they were 
formed by nature. There are several whose government, 
economy, manners, and industry, might serve as exam- 
ples to man : it seems that they have resolved the grand 
problem of life ; they have discovered the art of being 
happy } at least they appear so. Can we say the same 
of men, who believe themselves so much superior ? 

[47] That after death, SfC. 

See what the Abbe Manesse has written upon the art 
of stuffing animals. 



198 NOTES TO CANTO III* 

■ [4®] Betwixt nonentity, $c. 

The sport, the caprices, or wanderings of Nature, are 
not unworthy the attention of a philosopher, even if he 
should observe them only in consideration of the advan- 
tages that may result from them, independently of the 
curiosities they present. We know that it has been pos- 
sible, by means of art, emanating from observation, to 
change the direction of Nature, and to obtain, in the two 
distinct reigns of living beings, individuals which she 
would still have refused us j thus, mules, as well as the 
finest fruits, are monsters which she would never produce 
unless compelled to it by the power of art. Who knows 
what we might obtain from her if all these wanderings 
were well known ? As to those gigantic beings that have 
existed, the examination of them, and the places where 
they have been found, might throw a great light upon 
what Nature was in days of old. 

[49] But g?iaxc alike Du Bart as and Voltaire. 

William Sallust Du Bartas, the author (though at 
present unknown) of many poems, especially of one on 
the creation, called The Week, was not only a poet, but a 
statesman and valiant captain ; and neither of these titles 
has saved him from oblivion. The following passage in 
The Week $ in which he describes the flight and warbling 



KOTES TO CANTO III. 199 

of the lark, was supposed by him to possess a degree of 
imitative harmony : 

La gentille alouette crie son tire lire, 

Tire lire a lire, & tire tiran lire 

Vers la voute du ciel ; puis son vol vers ce lieu 

Vires k desire dire, adieu, Dieu, adieu, Dieu* 



NOTES 



TO 



CANTO IV. 



[i] YES, the rich aspect , S$c. 

A long time after this passage was read at the Acade* 
my, M. de la Harpe published a very interesting poem 
upon nearly a similar subject. I hope, that as the public 
reading of this Work was by many years previous to the 
publication of M. de la Harpe, I shall not be accused of 
plagiarism, on account of some resemblance which in 
many passages the two works may bear to each other. 

[2] The stream translucent, fyc. 

Gua pinus ingens, albaque populus 
Umbram hospitalem consociare amant 



202 NOTES TO CANTO IT. 



Ramis, & obliquo laborat 
Lympha fugax trepidare rivo„ 

Horat. Carm. lib. ii. od. iii. 

[3] His beating steps resound to Taney still. 

Should the reader wish to compare the different de- 
scriptions that different authors have given of the horse,, 
we must refer him to the book of Job, the Georgics of 
Virgil, the Gardens, the Praedium Rusticum, Buffon's* 
Natural History, and Rosset's Agriculture. 

[4] Now with the hind soft pitys tear I shed. 

It tristis arator 
- Mcerentem abjungens fraterna morte juvencum. 

Georg. lib. iii* 

[5] The gazing herd in awful silence stay* 

The reader will readily discover in this passage an imi- 
tation of Virgil's beautiful description of two bulls con- 
tending for an heifer, in his third book of Georgics 5 a 
description replete with life and vigour, and one of those 
where Poetry has, with the greatest success, lent humaa 
passions to animals. 



NOTES TO CANTO IV. 203 

[6] Where beats the heart so harden d as to view, #(?, 

Nam ssepe ante Deum vitulus delubra decora 
Thuricremas propter mactatus concidit aras., 
Sanguinis exspirans calidum de pectore fiumen : 
At mater virides saltus orbata peragrans., 
Linquit humi pedibus vestigia pressa bisulciSj 
Omnia convisens oculis ioca, si queat usquam 
Conspicere amissum fee turn ; completque querelis 
Frondiferum nemus adsistens ; & crebra revisit 
Ad stabulum, desiderio perfixa juvencL 
Nee tenerse salices, atque herbae rore vigentes, 
Fluminaque ulla queunt, summis labentia rlpis, 
Oblectare animum^ subitamque avertere curam : 
Nee vitulorum aliae species per pabula lasta 
Derivare queunt alio, curaque levare : 
Usque adeo quiddam proprium, notumque requirit. 
Lucret; de Reeum natusa, lib. iL 

[7] Scarce o'er Limagnas plain had Mont-tfor's, fyc. 

Sidonius Apollinaris, lib. iv. epist. 21, gives a beautiful 
description of the Lirnagne, which we shall here cite : 
Taceo territorium viatoribus molle, fructuosum aratoribus, 
venatoribus voluptuosum 5 quod montium cingant dorsa 
pascuis, latera vinetis,, terrena villis, saxosa castellis, opaca 
lustris, aperta culturis A concava fontibus, abrupta flumw 



204 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 



nibus; quod denique hujusmodi est, ut semel visum 
advenis multis patriae oblivionem saepe persuadeat."— 
King Childebert was accustomed to say, that he desired 
but one thing before he died : and that was to see the 
beautiful country of Limagne, which was said to be Na- 
ture's masterpiece, and a kind of fairy-ground. 

The Limagne, which is the country of the author, was 
likewise that of Pascal, Domat, Saveron, Guebriard, 
Sirmond, Marmontel, Thomas, &c. 

[8] There hireling robbers watch tK accomplice band. 

It is well known that in all great cities the police em- 
ploys rogues to discover rogueries, 

[9] City of mire, of smoke, and noisy pain. 

<c Adieu then, Paris! celebrated city! city of noise, of 
smoke, and mire ! where the men think no more of ho- 
nour, nor the women of virtue ! Adieu, Paris ! We are 
in search of love, happiness, and innocence $ and can 
never be at a sufficient distance from thee! 

Emilius, lib, iv. 

Rousseau, in many parts of his works, describes those 
lively and soft sensations with which he was delighted to 



NOTES TO CANTO IV. 205 



contrast the fresh and laughing pictures of Nature to the 
spectacle of Paris. 

[10] Unknown to man, and man by me forgot. 

These verses are imitated from Horace, and perhaps 
the reader will be pleased to see Despreaux's celebrated 
imitation of him: 

O rus, quando ego te aspiciam, quandoque licebit, 
Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno & inertibus horis 
Ducere sollicitae jucunda oblivia vitae? 
Oblitus cunctorum, obliviscendus & illis ! 

O fortune sejour! o champs aimes des cieux! 
Que, pour jamais foulant vos pres delicieux, 
Ne puis-je ici fixer ma course vagabonde, 
Et, connu de vous seuls, oublier tout le monde. 

These lines compared with those of Horace, will be 
sufficient to shew the reader the different genius of these 
two poets. It is the more evident, as being shewn in the 
very different manner of expressing the same idea and same 
sentiment. Boileau, in translating Horace, is still Boi- 
leau. This poet, so superior to his model in satire, never 
possessed in philosophic poetiy the same softness, grace, or 
voluptuous abandonment. <( O fortune sejour! o champs 



206 NOTES TO CANTO IV, 

aimes des deux!" is by no means equal to the affecting 
simplicity of these words: "O rus, quando ego te auspi- 
ciam." Horace does not ask for the "fortune sejour," 
&c.j the country only, the country, whatever it may be, 
is sufficient for his desires : " O rus, quando ego te aspi- 
ciam?" We are sorry not to find in Boileau's lines that 
Voluptuous distribution of time between sleep, reading of 
ancient authors, and indolence. What softness, and yet 
what boldness, in the inertibus horis, the listless hours! — 
How much too ouo;ht we to regret the translation of this 
charming line : 

Ducere sollicitae jucunda oblivia vitse ! 

Boire l'heureux oubli dun vie inquiete. 

In short, what difference there is as to harmony, grace, 
and expression of love for solitude, between 

Oblitus cunctorum, obliviscendus Sc illis, 

and the following verse : 

Et connu de vous seuls, oblier tout le monde ! 

The verses of Horace came from his soul, and Boileau 
took his from Horace, with the .difference, nevertheless, 



NOTES TO CANTO IV. £07 



that arises from the exquisite sensibility of the poet, and 
the negligent elegance of the imitator. It is to this cor- 
rection, the offspring of taste and labour, that Chapelle 
alludes, in these charming lines ■: 

Tout bon habitant du Marais 
Fait des vers qui ne coutent guere ; 
Pour moi, c est ainsi que j'en fais : 
Je les ferois bien plus mauvais 
Si je tachois de les mieux faire. 
"Quant a Monsieur Despreaux, 
II en compose de fort beaux* 

La Fontaine alone furnishes us with examples of that 
sweet sensibility and graceful voluptuousness which I ad- 
mire so much in Horace, when on the subject of love he 
cries out : 

Helas! quand revieudront de semblables momens? 
Faut-ii que tant d objets, si doux & si charmans, 
Me laissent .vivre au gre de mon ame inquiete ? 
Ah! si mon cceur encore osoit se renflammer! 
Ne trouverai-je plus le charme qui m'arrete? 
Ai-je passe le temps d'aimer? 

The subject is different, but the character of the style 
is the samo. 






208 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 

[i i] The verse should follow like the lightning's glare. 

In company once with M. le Chevalier de B**, the 
conversation turned upon imitative harmony in poetry , 
some persons of talents and ability denied the existence 
of any such harmony. The author of this poem, who 
was present, being invited to read some of his verses, 
chose the passage which had this imitative harmony for its 
subject. M. le Chevalier, with that fineness of wit 
which is so familiar to him, exclaimed, " He has done as 
did the philosopher, before whom the power of motion 
was denied : he has walked." 

[id] His absent Lycoris! his notes entreat, fyc. 

Te procul a p atria (nee sit mihi credere tantum !) 
Alpinas, ah dura ! nives & frigora Rheni 
Me sine sola vides. Ah ! te ne frigora laedant ! 
Ah ! tibi ne teneras glacies secet aspera plantas ! 

Ibo, & Chalcidico quae sunt raihi condita versu 
Carmina, pastoris siculi modulabor avena. 
Certum est in sylvis, inter spelaea ferarum 
Malle pati, tenerisque meo incidere amores 
Arboribus : crescent illae 5 crescentis, amores ! 
Interea mixtis, &c. Virgil. Bucol. eclog. x* 

THE END. 

T. Davison, White-Friars. 



Library of Congress 
Branch Bindery, 1902 



